


Queerly Confused

by scatteringmyashes



Series: Athos/D'Artagnan AU Fest [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:47:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5893441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos is comfortable in his sexuality: straight as an arrow. Not like it matters, since he isn’t interested in dating, but if he were then he’d only look at girls. So when Aramis and Porthos convince him to join their school’s gay-straight alliance, he’s very clear that he’ll only be there as an ally. Then, as things go, he meets a freshman with a blinding smile and a wit sharper than steel.</p><p>In short, Athos is well and truly screwed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this was not supposed to be so long. It's actually to the point of where I cut it into two chapters, so expect the second one to be up later this month (while I finish editing it and all that). Anyways, I had far too much fun writing this regardless of the length. After this AU, though, I'm going to hopefully be doing some that are not modern day AUs xD 
> 
> Prompt: You’re part of the school’s GSA but the real question is if you’re part of the ‘G’ or the ‘S’ AU

“What am I doing here again?” Athos asked, adjusting how his backpack rested against his shoulder and side-stepping a clump of giggling sophomore girls who were talking about who knows what. The halls were always a bit of a mess after school, but between Athos’ glare and Porthos’ sheer size it wasn’t too difficult to navigate. 

Aramis let out a long suffering sigh. “You’re going to help organize events and show support. Obviously you aren’t invited to the discussions for queer kids, but you can do just about anything else.” He was doing his insufferable thing where he walked backwards, solely for the purposes of showing off, and accidentally ran into one of the jocks. “Shit,” Aramis muttered.

“Watch where you’re going, fag,” the other teen shot back. Immediately Aramis’ gaze hardened and he straightened up just a bit. His boyfriend cracked his knuckles and did his best to look intimidating. It wasn’t hard, considering Porthos was pushing six foot three and was on the rugby team (because, in his own words, football wasn’t violent enough). 

In other words, he was built like an actual tank and the jock suddenly decided that the best course of action would be to slam his locker shut and leave as quickly as possible. Porthos murmured a few curses and Athos couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He understood that his friends got upset by slurs and the like, but they weren’t going to change everyone’s mind in a day. Besides, they’d have to deal with idiots throughout their whole lives, ones they couldn’t always immediately jump to beat up. 

“Come on you two. Don’t make us late,” Athos chided as if he were the responsible one. Porthos rolled his eyes, not believing Athos for a second. Aramis seemed less willing, fully prepared to get into a fight, but he just sighed and led the way. 

The room in question was an English classroom that was across from everyone’s least favorite history teacher, Mr. Richelieu. He was stubborn, old fashioned, and generally known as a hard ass. The teacher across from him, Mr. Treville, was just as stubborn and could be just as old fashioned, but he had a tendency to turn the other way whenever you decided certain rules weren’t for you. It was only his good will and general kindness that had let Porthos pass Honors English with a C rather than failing him immediately after discovering that his final paper was almost entirely copied from the Internet. Instead, Porthos just had to write the essay again as well as a long letter explaining why he would never plagiarize again. For that reason, the inseparable trio practically idolized Treville.

(It didn’t stop them from acting like total idiots in his class and generally doing their best to see how far they could bend the rules before he sent them to detention or at least yelled at them a little, but it was all done out of love and Treville knew that. Hopefully.)

When the news spread that the school’s first ever gay-straight alliance was starting up and would be run by Treville himself, two of them had immediately signed up. Athos was a bit more difficult to convince, but he could never _really_ say no to the people who were essentially his brothers. There had never been a question of him joining, just _when_ he would.

“There are my three favorite troublemakers,” Treville called out as they entered. “You’re on time.” The ‘for once’ wasn’t said but they all heard it. “Help yourself to some snacks or whatnot. We’re going to get started in a moment.” Porthos, who even more eternally hungry than most growing young men were, headed immediately to scarf down some unholy combination of lemonade, cookies, and chips. Aramis, acting like the ever-suffering boyfriend while really he found it charming, rolled his eyes and went to follow.

Athos had no idea what to do. He recognized some of the other students there in an ‘oh we walk past one another’ or a ‘we have that one class together’ sense, but none of them were his friends. It was, after all, common knowledge that he had a grand total of two friends (and was perfectly happy, thank you very much). Still, he was going to have to be social eventually. He might as well do it on his own terms.

He let out a soft sigh and walked over to Constance, someone he knew from when he took a rather dreadful sewing class the year prior (a combination of needing the credit and a lost bet with Aramis). The teacher had acted like Athos was the actual bane of his existence and refused to give him anything about a B for the whole class. On the other hand, Constance had been the teacher’s favorite and she had passed with flying colors (quite literally, since their final project had been to design and make their own flag).

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Athos admitted. She looked at him and raised an eyebrow, sipping at her lemonade. Now that he walked over, he realized that she was talking to someone he hadn’t seen before. The kid was all limbs and joints, like he had a sudden growth and the rest of him didn’t realize it was supposed to catch up now. _What’s a junior talking to a freshman for?_ Athos couldn’t help but wonder.

“I could say the same for you. Athos, right?” He nodded and wondered if he was supposed to extend a hand for her to shake or not. “This is d’Artagnan. He’s in my theatre class.” Athos supposed that made perfect sense, given what little he knew about Constance. 

Athos met d’Artagnan’s eyes and saw a surprising amount of joy in them. _Definitely a freshman; school hasn’t yet sucked the life out of him,_ Athos reasoned. “Pleasure to meet you,” Athos added almost as a second thought. D’Artagnan grinned and nodded. “I came with those two idiots.” Athos motioned over to his friends.

Aramis and Porthos were chatting with Anne, someone Aramis had a rather unfortunate crush on freshman year. It had been unfortunate because not only was she gay but Porthos had been longing after Aramis for the better part of a year by the time they got to high school. Still, it all worked out in the end, and at least Athos didn’t have to listen to the two of them complaining constantly anymore. 

“Are you a junior too?” D’Artagnan asked. He seemed almost disappointed when Athos nodded, but the older teen ignored it. Athos could feel the charisma and honesty that rolled off of d’Artagnan stronger than Porthos’ smell after rugby. No doubt d’Artagnan already had a cohort of friends that he hung out with on a regular basis; he wouldn’t want to be friends with or spend time with Athos. Not like it mattered to him, Athos was just curious. He liked to know things about people, was that a crime?

Before they could engage in any more awkward introductions, Treville called everyone to settle down and sit. Athos immediately went over to Aramis and Porthos, who had left him space on instinct. The desks were set up in rows of four and Anne sat next to Aramis, still chatting with him about the latest gossip or something; Athos didn’t really care to know. If it affected him, Aramis would tell him. If it didn’t, Aramis would still tell him.

“All right, welcome to the first meeting of the gay-straight alliance. I’m Mr. Treville, Honors and AP English teacher. I thought we could go around and introduce ourselves with our names, pronouns, and then something we enjoy doing.” Treville eyed the three juniors sitting towards the front. “Porthos, why don’t you start?” 

The teen nodded and twisted in his chair to wave at the rest of the group, introducing himself quickly. For a dreadful moment, Athos thought Porthos was going to say he enjoyed doing Aramis which, while no doubt accurate, was also inappropriate for him to say even in Treville’s room, but thankfully common sense won out. “I play rugby,” Porthos settled on instead, sitting and letting Aramis go next.

Athos had never been a big fan of awkward introductions, not particularly enjoying addressing his fellow classmates unless he absolutely had to, mostly because the whole ‘getting close to people’ wasn’t his forte, but he still paid attention. When Constance spoke, he was mildly surprised to learn that she enjoyed fencing and made a mental note to talk to her about it; he had taken lessons for six years and had only quit after, well, recent events made it difficult to go to practice. If she had another center to go to, though, then maybe he’d pick up his sword once again.

“Hello.” It was d’Artagnan’s turn. He seemed nervous and his blush extended to his ears, which was endearing rather than ridiculous like Athos usually thought. Then again, d’Artagnan seemed to have an uncanny resemblance to a puppy, so that would explain Athos’ thoughts. Yes, it was most certainly that and Athos’ attraction had absolutely nothing to do with the way d’Artagnan’s smile could light up the dark side of the room. “I’m d’Artagnan, he/him. Can’t really pick just one thing I like doing. Uh. Riding.” Porthos chuckled and Aramis looked torn between chiding him and joining in. “My family owns horses, so. Yeah. Horse riding I suppose.” 

There were many rich stereotypes Athos’ family filled, but owning horses was not one of them. Thank god, really, because he was convinced that all animals larger than a house cat hated him. At least the family dog seemed to; the crazy animal absolutely adored his friends but ignored all of Athos’ attempts to grow close to her. Of course, she had also loved Athos’ ex, so perhaps her judgement was not the best.

He realized he was supposed to speak. Athos turned in his seat and eyed the group with vague disinterest. “Athos, he/him pronouns. I enjoy reading.” He looked back at Treville, well aware of the anti-social vibe he was giving off. It was, like most of the things he did, entirely intentional; he came to this meeting to show support for Aramis and Porthos, not to go around making friends or any of that ridiculous nonsense. 

If anyone wanted to call him out on it, though, they didn’t. Treville just looked up at the ceiling in his ‘God give me strength’ way before starting on about what he thought the club would be about. Athos kept off his phone mostly in a sign of respect towards his friends, though he also did admire Treville in a sort of weird mentor-student way. More so than Porthos and Aramis at any rate. 

Still, he was bored and he kept wishing he could turn around or somehow look at d’Artagnan and see his reactions to what Treville was saying. Did d’Artagnan purse his lips when he concentrated? Did his eyebrows furrow or his shoulders tense? Athos pegged d’Artagnan as the type to fidget. No doubt the freshman was spinning his pen between his fingers, absentmindedly of course, with his feet up on the chair in front of him. Then again, it was entirely reasonable for d’Artagnan to be a stickler for the rules; that just wasn’t the feeling Athos got from him.

Though, importantly, Athos was only wondering about d’Artagnan in the first place because Porthos and Aramis were actually paying attention for once and he didn’t find anyone else in the room particularly interesting. It wasn’t as if Athos actually cared about whatever d’Artagnan happened to be like. After all, the chances of them ever meeting outside of the club were negligible.

With that in mind, Athos settled in for another forty minutes of social interaction. Porthos and Aramis were lucky he enjoyed their company.

\----------------------

“Oh, hello d’Artagnan,” Athos managed to say as he downed another gulp of his coffee. Whoever had decided high school should start at eight in the morning clearly had blocked out the entirety of their own experiences, because there was no force on earth that could get Athos operational until noon. Even then, the only way he could stand on his own two feet was through the magical powers of coffee. He was already on his third cup. 

He was tired enough that he didn’t recognize the look on d’Artagnan’s face as concern until it was too late to try to correct himself. “Are you ok?” The freshman asked, actually worried about his well-being in such an honest way that Athos felt like laughing. Instead, he just snorted and rolled his eyes. He opened up his locker and groaned as the precarious pile of stuff fell over, burying the notebook he needed.

Athos set about to digging it out as d’Artagnan repeated his question. “Yes, I’m fine,” Athos replied, knowing he was being grumpy for no good reason but also not really caring. “Why are you here anyway?” There was no way Athos could have had a locker near d’Artagnan for the first few weeks of school without noticing and recognizing him at the meeting, right? It wasn’t that Athos had a particularly impressive memory, but he was damn good with faces and d’Artagnan’s was particularly memorable. 

“My schedule changed so my first class is over there.” D’Artagnan pointed to the French classroom nearby, the same one that Athos was currently in. It was at the AP level and the only reason Athos was in it was because he had refused to take another year of Spanish with Aramis and Porthos. Athos raised an eyebrow, not bothering to vocalize his question. “My parents taught me growing up; they’re both from France.” 

“Really? You don’t look like it.” Athos felt like kicking himself; the guy’s name was d’Artagnan for fuck’s sake. Where else would his parents be from? Thankfully, either d’Artagnan was used to the surprised reactions from people and had long since given up on anger as a response or was just not offended. He just nodded

“Parles-tu français aussi?” D’Artagnan asked. Athos nodded, debated replying in turn just to be impressive, and then decided that he did not have enough energy or caffeine in his system to try using his brain that much. Besides, it wasn’t like d’Artagnan’s opinion of him was all that important or anything. They were still strangers to one another.

Strangers who apparently had the same level of proficiency in French and some amount of care for queer issues, but strangers nonetheless. 

“Essentially fluent. My parents always instilled an importance of knowledge in me.” Athos licked his lips. D’Artagnan’s family was rich too, right? Certainly he wouldn’t be scared off if Athos admitted he had gone to a private school for years, learning French since he was a child, only to get kicked out after attacking his brother and choking his then-girlfriend in a fit of rage. Right? That was all perfectly normal for a seventeen year old to have gone through. 

Thankfully, d’Artagnan didn’t ask any questions. He grinned a little more, shifted his backpack, and leaned against the row of lockers. Athos realized that d’Artagnan was taller than him and felt a twinge of annoyance. Usually he liked to be taller than people he thought were attractive. _Wait. What._ Athos blinked and was never more grateful for his annoying friends then in that exact moment, because instead of having to suffering through the next thirty minutes (he always got to school early) attempting to make small talk, Porthos slung an arm over his shoulder and begun to engage d’Artagnan conversation. With that taken care of, Athos scowled, rolled his eyes, and left to go to the bathroom.

When he got there, he promptly locked himself in a stall and hit his head against the cool tile. _It wasn’t that weird,_ he told himself. _You can think other guys are attractive and still be straight. Isn’t that a thing people are encouraging anyway?_ Athos let out a heavy sigh and turned, resting his back against the wall and sliding down it, feeling more than ever like some protagonist in a shitty teen romance novel. Except in his case he was thinking about some annoying freshman with a remarkable grin and a beautiful tan that probably extended onto his chest and elsewhere… 

Not that Athos thought it mattered or anything, he was just curious. Speculative, perhaps, but not caring. Definitely not that. 

Which was why he did what any other guy comfortable in his heterosexuality would do in that situation: stay in the bathroom until there were three minutes until class, exit the bathroom with caution, and dash inside the right room and sit down with seconds to spare. 

That was entirely normal, Athos was sure of it. There wasn’t much he could be certain of, not anymore, but his behaviors were within the realms of teenaged eccentricities and he knew that, just like how he knew Porthos could eat an entire medium pizza if encouraged and that Aramis thought it was hilarious and also a bit sad.

(The trio avoided talking about their pasts for various reasons, but what they did know of each other was enough. Aramis had been five when his preschool had been set on fire and he was the only one in his class to survive; Porthos had been in the foster care system for the majority of his life and had spent the first ten unsure of where the next meal would come from; Athos had trust issues. It wasn’t a lot but it was all they needed to know.) 

Besides, there were two major reasons Athos couldn’t be attracted to d’Artagnan, not to mention the fact that they were practically strangers who knew nothing about one another. One, Athos wasn’t looking to kiss anyone, let alone date them. His last and only experience had been more than enough for the rest of his life, thank you very much. Two, and more importantly, he was straight. He liked girls and boobs and short skirts on girls with boobs. D’Artagnan was not a girl nor did he have a chest and he most certainly did not wear skirts of any length. Not to be transphobic, but Athos was quite sure that combination of traits was essentially necessary for him to be physically attracted to someone ( _then again,_ some part of his mind whispered, _she never wore skirts and you were much more attracted to her wit and charm_ ). 

“Bonjour,” the teacher told the class before informing them that they had a new addition. She invited d’Artagnan to speak and to talk a little about himself, telling him that the class was run almost entirely in French because of how high a level it was. “Mais, ce n’est pas un problème pour toi, je pense,” she added. 

D’Artagnan almost looked nervous standing up, but he casually adopted a smile and instantly won over half the female population of the room and probably a few of the guys. When he spoke, Athos was able to add another thing to his list of certainties. 

For better or worse, d’Artagnan had a damn good French accent. 

\---------------------

Athos was able to get through French without any embarrassingly stupid incidents, suffered through Calculus and European history, and finally got to his first class of the day with Aramis and Porthos: Honors Biology. They were purposefully put in the farthest corners from one another by the teacher in a vain hope that they wouldn’t be able to communicate over such a distance, but it was a cheap trick and the three of them had long since found a way around it.

In this case, it only took a few months of learning sign language to pull it off. They had gotten very, very good at it. No doubt their task was aided by the simple fact that the teacher made the mistake of putting Porthos and Aramis, both of whom were tall enough to see over their classmates, in the back. It was difficult for Athos to see what they were signing without making it obvious, but he could see Porthos out of the corner of one eye and that was enough.

 _Want to go to Subway for lunch?_ Porthos asked, covering the motion with a rather obvious stretch. Athos resisted the urge to openly roll his eyes and settled on nodding, scratching down some notes so it at least looked like he was paying more attention than he actually was. He wanted to ask if they should invite d’Artagnan along, but that wouldn’t make any sense. The freshman wasn’t their friend and he probably didn’t even have lunch at the same time as the rest of the trio. 

Besides, as Athos had managed to convince himself over the last few class periods, he wasn’t all that interested in d’Artagnan at all. The younger teen was just a matter of amusement, someone with a bright smile that could rival Aramis’ and a French accent that Athos was almost jealous of. Almost. 

_Aramis says we should invite d’Art,_ Porthos signed. Athos almost missed it, too caught up in his thoughts, but it was hard to not notice when someone was coughing like their lungs were falling out (Porthos’ main method of getting the attention of one of his two friends; he really had to come up with something more clever). _Thoughts?_ Needless to say, Athos had many. He debated saying no out of spite, but there was no other reason for that. Even then, his feelings were purely aimed towards himself. Even he saw no point in harming Aramis, Porthos, and d’Artagnan for such a stupid reason. 

So instead, Athos nodded, though he waited for the teacher to focus her attention elsewhere before replying in full. _Tell him that he is on trial and we reserve the right to kick him out of the group at any time._ It was a bit of a handful and more than a little time consuming, and Athos struggled to catch up with the lecture once he was done. He was able to glance back at Aramis, who nodded; at least he understood the gist of the message. If Porthos was confused or had missed part of it, Aramis could explain it to him.

“Mr. de la Fère, what is your opinion?” The teacher asked. Athos mentally cursed and skimmed over the board. There was something about cell reproduction and different cycles, but he hadn’t the faintest idea what the question had been. It must have been obvious because the teacher just sighed. “Pay more attention next time. Ninon, perhaps you could enlighten us…” Usually Athos loathed being shown up in class, but he couldn’t care less at that moment. 

Because he was getting lunch with d’Artagnan and the thought definitely didn’t make his heart beat a little bit faster or set his nerves on fire from a strange combination of anxiety and attraction. Nope. Definitely not. He wasn’t in grade school after all. Confident in that, Athos prepared for the rest of class and purposefully answered the next several questions perfectly.

He wasn’t in grade school, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t have a bit of a competition with Ninon, right?

\---------------

“Are you ok?” Aramis asked, falling back behind the other two. Porthos was making d’Artagnan laugh about who knew what, the sound loud and bright and completely unnecessarily heart-warming to Athos. Hell, he didn’t even know what ‘heart-warming’ was supposed to entail, only that d’Artagnan’s laugh fulfilled that category of ‘cheesy shit people do.’ It was absolutely infuriating. 

Athos channeled his inner fury and scowled, not dignifying Aramis’ question with a proper answer. “You’ve been… sullen. More so than usual,” the other teen explained, though for once it seemed like he was struggling to find the right words. “If you don’t like d’Artagnan, we don’t need to invite him next time.”

“That isn’t the issue,” Athos snapped all too quickly. Aramis’ eyebrows shot up and he glanced at the person in question before looking back at his friend. There was a light blush on Athos’ cheeks and he was glaring at the ground, unwilling to meet Aramis’ eyes. “Don’t you dare,” Athos practically hissed. “There is nothing to talk about anyway, so don’t bother asking.” He also couldn’t bring himself to care that he was being defensive and that any suspicions Aramis had would most certainly be confirmed now. 

They weren’t confirmed in Athos’ mind and that was what mattered. 

Thankfully, there wasn’t a chance for Aramis to ask anything because at that point d’Artagnan shifted his attention to the two people behind him. Athos didn’t believe in a God and he never would, but he thanked god anyway.

“Aramis,” d’Artagnan turned around and looked at the young man in question. “Is it true that you met Porthos because you were being bullied and he was the only one to stick up for you?” Athos, who had heard no less than seven different iterations of this very story before, rolled his eyes and did his best to look dismissive of the whole thing. Aramis, who enjoyed retelling it with various embellishments (at one point one might as well have believed that Porthos had come in wielding a flaming sword and that Aramis had been under attack by demons from hell), just grinned.

“Is that what he’s telling people now?” Aramis caught up with d’Artagnan and slung an arm around his shoulder. The angle was all wrong because their heights were off, but it got the point across well enough. There wasn’t enough room for three to walk side-by-side unless someone was in the street, so Porthos stepped back to chat with Athos. 

If he was going to be honest with himself, which he rarely was, Athos found himself enjoying feeling less and less like a third wheel for the first time in years. Even before Aramis and Porthos had been an official couple, they had always spent more time together as a duo than with Athos as a trio. It wasn’t that Athos had ever felt left out, per se, but he had been jealous of the way they seemed able to turn to one another regardless of the problem. He had once had that, but it was his own fault that he lost it and it didn’t do any good to dwell on the past.

Athos had figured that out quickly enough. 

“What’s been eating at you?” Porthos asked. Athos felt like tearing his hair out and screaming, because he was perfectly fine thank you very much, so stop asking any questions, but instead he just narrowed his eyes at his friend. A bit unfair, certainly, but Porthos was used to it and he didn’t take it personally. He just shrugged. “If you want to talk, we’re here for you.” 

He wasn’t as good with romance or open affection as Aramis was, but it was easy to forget that Porthos was just as skilled when it came to emotions. In many ways he was better; while Aramis was under the belief that everything had to be addressed all the time, Porthos understood that Athos liked his secrets. They all did, really, they just happened to open up at different times. The fact remained that, despite Porthos and Aramis becoming Porthos _and_ Aramis, they needed one another. The trio was stronger than any sort of two-plus-one. Athos liked that. He could admit that much. 

Ahead, D’Artagnan let out one of his easy laughs and Athos felt his heart twist and squeeze in a manner that wasn’t unpleasant but also hurt. _I’m not used to it, that’s all,_ Athos told himself, not realizing that his friend was keeping an eye on him. Porthos watched his face and noted the way his lips twitched, the flutter of his eyelashes, the little things that Athos never did because he was never happy. Of course, Porthos was smart enough not to mention it, just filed it away for later.

“Hey, d’Artagnan, where are you from?” Porthos asked as they came up on the Subway in question. Aramis, ever the gentleman, opened the door for the other three. If he were wearing a hat, there was no question that he would have tipped it for them. Athos rolled his eyes but he couldn’t keep a small smile from breaking through his scowl as d’Artagnan made an absolutely awful show of taking off his invisible fedora, twirling it in the air, and giving Aramis a bow. 

It was only once they were waiting in line that d’Artagnan replied. “You’re going to laugh,” he warned them. Athos rolled his eyes and motioned for him to continue. It couldn’t be anymore ridiculous than the time Porthos successfully convinced Constance that he was actually an exchange student from South Africa (the prank fell apart after a few weeks, but it was absolutely glorious while it lasted). “Tennessee.” 

At that, Aramis and Porthos both burst out laughing. Even Athos couldn’t stop himself from chuckling, a sudden warmth hitting his chest. D’Artagnan didn’t seem the least bit offended. “I’m serious. My mom went to France for an exchange program and fell in love with my dad. They ended up getting married and living there for a few years, but then she was pregnant and she refused to have her kid grow up outside of the US.” It was absolutely ridiculous and, coming from anyone else, Athos would have called bullshit. But somehow d’Artagnan made it sound completely and utterly real.

Either that or Athos was just taking everything d’Artagnan said at face value, which he never did for anyone, so he was completely content in thinking otherwise. Hell, it even seemed fitting that d’Artagnan’s parents had some ridiculous love story behind them. Only two people with some picture-perfect romance could have raised a teenager like d’Artagnan. From what little Athos knew about d’Artagnan, he wouldn’t be surprised to find the freshman had some equally absurd ideas for his own future.

 _Then again,_ Athos mind cheerfully supplied for him, _d’Artagnan is young and attractive and bright. He’ll have no trouble finding the perfect boy._ In return, Athos told himself to shut up right before reassuring himself that it wasn’t important. If d’Artagnan did find someone absolutely perfect and matching, then good for him; Athos had no reason to interfere beyond some simple teasing. Hell, if anyone deserved a happy ending (besides Porthos and Aramis, but Athos would eat his left arm before believing they would break up) it was d’Artagnan.

That much Athos was ok believing. 

“Oh for the love of all things holy, Porthos, please get _something_ green on that,” Aramis swore as he looked at the meatball monstrosity that his boyfriend was ordering. His words successfully pulled Athos out of his thoughts. Porthos considered it and shrugged. 

He looked at the bored college student behind the counter and said in his most even voice: “Add some cheese, will you?” Aramis let out a string of Spanish curses that Athos and Porthos were far too used to; d’Artagnan seemed a little surprised, but on the other hand he also seemed to be realizing that he was getting lunch with three juniors and, as such, was suddenly unable to fully articulate anything he was feeling.

Then again, when he ordered a sub that could rival Porthos’ (seriously, who got bacon, ham, turkey, two kinds of cheese, and mayo on a sandwich without having a serious death wish?) with a shit-eating grin aimed directly at Aramis, Athos was willing to bet his entire savings account that d’Artagnan was not nearly as star-struck as he had seemed. 

When they walked back to school, Athos found that it was his turn to walk with d’Artagnan. They were quiet at first; he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say anything and d’Artagnan seemed perfectly content with the silence. It was appreciated, really. Athos wasn’t sure if he could handle small-talk with d’Artagnan; after every short interaction, Athos felt the need to run to the bathroom and try to drown himself in the toilet. Not because of d’Artagnan specifically, but the correlation was there.

After a few moments of thought, though, Athos spoke up. 

“Tennessee, eh? You don’t have much of an accent,” he pointed out. D’Artagnan looked at him, glanced back at where Porthos and Aramis were too blissfully distracted to be hearing anything they were saying, and nodded slowly.

“It’s a lot more interesting than upstate New York,” d’Artagnan muttered. It took a surprising amount of willpower for Athos not to say something along the lines of ‘you don’t need to try to be interesting, you already are.’ Instead, Athos hummed some nonsensical tune under his breath for a moment before looking at d’Artagnan. _Really_ looked, out in the sunlight, for the first time. 

Athos wasn’t blind; even though d’Artagnan couldn’t have been more than fifteen (hell he was probably only fourteen, if that; Athos didn’t even remember how old he had been when he was a freshman) he was still devilishly attractive. All long limbs that he had yet to grow into, yes, and a crooked grin that came from uneven teeth, but still a looker. D’Artagnan had what no doubt was soft brown hair that just brushed the top of his shoulders, but not a sign of a single hair on his chin. 

The exact opposite of Athos’ own face, which was honestly more beard than skin most days since shaving required getting up an extra thirty minutes in the morning. Athos was well aware that his propensity for facial hair was uncommon and made him look older, which he took full advantage of. Well, it either made him look more mature and therefore cooler or like he was actually homeless in the literal sense. Most days it was a toss up. Athos counted that as an acceptable risk.

“How was the sandwich?” Athos asked, unable to think of anything better. D’Artagnan kept a straight face for a moment before bursting out into laughter and shaking his head.

“Absolutely terrible,” he admitted, “but the look on Aramis’ face was worth it.” He laughed again, at the memory no doubt, and Athos couldn’t help but smile. Actually smile, with his lips pulled back and his teeth showing, his eyes gleaming in the sunlight the same way d’Artagnan’s entire body seemed to do so. 

About then was when Athos realized that he wanted to be the one to make d’Artagnan laugh, that he wanted to see d’Artagnan smile and glow and just be happy. That already, after little more than a week, d’Artagnan had managed to break down all of the walls Athos had carefully constructed over the course of years, ones that Porthos and Aramis still tip-toed around. 

_Fuck._

\-------------------

The next meeting of the GSA was something Athos dreaded and also looked forward to. He still put up a token resistance when Aramis and Porthos brought him to the room, but his heart wasn’t in it. If his friends could tell, they said nothing. In all honesty, they were probably glad that he was acting less like a teenager in some young adult novel and more like someone who was an actual mature adult. 

(He wasn’t, but they knew that and he knew that and nobody really cared, so it all worked out.)

That day, the focus on the meeting was organizing for the Day of Silence that was coming up. Posters and flyers had to be made, the school administration had to be alerted, and someone had to craft a clever message that could be shown to anyone who thought they could be a smartass about the whole thing. Athos let Aramis and Porthos essentially volunteer him to work on the fliers, along with d’Artagnan who apparently had some experience in graphic design.

 _Of course he does. He speaks French fluently and he screws around with photoshop for fun. I bet he does competition horse riding too,_ Athos couldn’t help but think as he glanced at d’Artagnan for the fifth time in the thirty seconds they had been working together. Today d’Artagnan was wearing some graphic tee with a shitty band on the front, but Athos decided that his skinny jeans more than made up for his terrible taste in music. Nobody could be _perfect,_ after all; they could just be _close_ to perfect.

It was an important distinction, Athos had decided several nights ago while staring at his bedroom ceiling and doing his best not to think of certain smiles or the sound of laughter ringing in his ears. (All his attempts hadn’t worked, but that didn’t stop him from trying his damndest.)

“I wish there were some trans kids at the school,” d’Artagnan admitted as he fiddled around on his computer. Athos tore his gaze away from the way d’Artagnan’s lips curved and instead focused on what the flyer was looking like. Really, Athos wasn’t doing much work, but he supposed he couldn’t complain too much. 

Porthos leaned over from where he and his boyfriend were supposed to be making the mission statement. Aramis was good with words, as everyone in the school knew, but Porthos also had a funny way of completely distracting him. If the two got any work done it would be a minor miracle. “I thought Aramis was trans for a while,” Porthos admitted. Athos, who had heard this story before, just continued to examine the flyer and definitely not pay any attention to the way his shoulder brushed d’Artagnan’s or the fact that their knees kept bumping into each other’s under the desks.

D’Artagnan raised an eyebrow. “Really?” He seemed more curious than anything, though he did give Aramis a second glance as if to make sure he hadn’t missed something. Porthos chuckled even as Aramis rolled his eyes. Half of the stories that Porthos claimed were the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth were indeed lies, lies, and more lies. Still, that didn’t stop him from telling them and Aramis didn’t mind as long as they were relatively harmless.

This one in particular no one could confirm as fictional or not, but considering his track record no one took him too seriously. So, well, Athos just tuned Porthos out as he started explaining that Aramis hadn’t really started to mature or whatnot physically until rather recently (which was definitely a lie; Porthos had actually been the last to hit puberty, but god had it hit him like a truck). 

“And what would you happen to be talking about?” Treville asked, appearing out of seemingly nowhere. Porthos twitched, the only sign of his surprise, while d’Artagnan practically fell out of his chair. Athos hated that he found it more endearing than annoying and secured d’Artagnan’s laptop with one hand while hauling the person in question up with the other. 

“I-- sorry-- nothing--” d’Artagnan was blushing across his face and it was in all honesty too attractive. It didn’t help that Athos imagined the warmth spreading down his chest and they were incredibly close and god did d’Artagnan have to wear such a small shirt-- 

Athos let go of d’Artagnan and felt the sudden need to flee the room. He swallowed, blinked a few times, and forced words out of his throat. Hoping that they made sense and that he wasn’t visibly shaken, he left and barricaded himself in the bathroom. What little part of his mind wasn’t freaking out couldn’t help but think that it was much nicer than the one by the French classroom; there were less dicks drawn on the walls.

Of course his focus on the graffiti was only an attempt to focus on something other than the fact that Athos very much found d’Artagnan attractive and it was very much not platonic. No, the feelings that were swirling around Athos’ mind and body were not at all similar to the ones he felt towards Aramis or Porthos, but they also were nothing like how Athos felt towards Anne.

 _Thank god,_ he couldn’t help but think. No, d’Artagnan was far from the cold-hearted and calculated girl that Athos had dated for so many years; d’Artagnan was emotional and wore his heart on his sleeve and generally didn’t know when to quit. And, for some bizarre reason, he seemed to actually enjoy Athos’ company. 

It was such a surprise because of how Athos acted. He never tried to make friends who weren’t Aramis or Porthos and, in turn, no one tried to be friends with him. Athos was a rude, sarcastic little shit to anyone who talked to him and he had no intention of changing that. His idea of a good time was to watch television or wander around the streets with his friends and consider what trouble they could get into. There was no middle ground, no compromise. And the only reason he even left his room for something other than school was because Aramis and Porthos had done their damndest to pull Athos out of his shell when he had appeared at their school, halfway through their freshman year.

But for whatever reason d’Artagnan seemed to think Athos was funny, that his wit and comments were perfectly impolite, and that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him. Like it was normal for Athos to spend ten minutes in d’Artagnan’s company and the next fifty in the bathroom (which was only a mild exaggeration). 

_Maybe in New York they need longer to take a shit,_ Athos thought to himself, mind desperately trying to keep him from falling into hysterics. _Is liking another boy that bad?_ He considered what his parents might think, their twin looks of disapproval, the way he was already an outcast and only kept around because Athos’ grandfather would pout if his oldest grandson was disowned. Would he still think so fondly if that same child, the one who had promised to become a cop just like his grandpa, ended up being bi?

 _Yes,_ Athos decided, _it is that bad._

Of course, then Aramis just had to walk into the bathroom. For a moment, Athos hoped that his friend was in there to actually relieve himself but his luck (nonexistent to begin with) failed him and Aramis paused outside of the bathroom stall Athos had locked himself inside. There was a moment of silence before Aramis knocked. “Are you still alive?” He asked, sounding almost careless. 

But Aramis had never perfected that particular tone of voice and Athos could see right through him regardless. Besides, it went against every cell in Aramis’ body to not care; the young man was just an empathetic human being. Athos, at moments, admired him for his ability to understand what other people were going through and to somehow help them no matter the issue. But for the most part it seemed absolutely exhausting. 

There was a moment of temptation to just not answer, but Athos knew that he was clearly visible in the stall and the last thing he needed was for Aramis to crawl under the door. Or for Aramis to get Porthos to knock the door down (which he could, much to the school’s disapproval). Either were very, _very_ bad ideas. 

“I’m fine,” Athos lied. He winced; his voice sounded like someone had force-fed him a bucket of nails wrapped in barbed wire. It didn’t make sense why, but he supposed he had been in the bathroom a while. “You know how terrible the food here is. I really need to make my lunch again.” It was a shitty, but nevertheless long-running, joke that the trio shared about how Athos’ delicate stomach would cause him to throw up if he ate the school food. He had only ever thrown up once and it had nothing to do with the lunches, but Porthos had managed to keep it going long enough that it had become part of their joke vernacular. 

“Athos…” Aramis, of course, was not buying any of the bullshit Athos was doing his best to sell. “Will you open the door at least? This would be much more pleasant if I could see you.” He just had to be reasonable too. Athos hated it when his friends made sense. It always made him feel a little more inadequate. Still, he stood and unlocked the stall door, letting it swing open. Aramis stood on the other side and spread his arms in a silent question.

Most of the time, Athos hated physical contact. He just was not a particularly tactile person and, as Aramis and Porthos regularly reassured him, that was ok. Sometimes Athos just wanted some alone time or just didn’t want anyone within a foot of him. At those moments, even Aramis and Porthos had to watch themselves.

This was not one of those moments. Athos stepped forward and allowed himself to be pulled into a hug. Aramis whispered things in Spanish to him, words of comfort, as he rubbed Athos’ back, small soothing circles in an attempt to stop him from doing his best impression of a Renaissance statue. Athos took a deep breath and pulled away, shifting uncomfortably under Aramis’ gaze. _At least it isn’t d’Artagnan._

“What is wrong, Athos? You’ve been acting strange for weeks. Porthos and I both noticed and we thought you would tell us, but…” Aramis stopped, shaking his head. He wasn’t even disappointed or upset, which was the real kicker. Athos knew how to act when someone thought he was a failure or when someone was mad at him. But when someone, when a _friend_ was concerned because of him? 

Well, he had been friends with Aramis and Porthos for three years, but it was still a surprise every time they hauled him out of the darkness and refused to take his shit too seriously. They knew nothing about his past, nothing important, and they didn’t even know about his family. For whatever reason, though, they were his friends and he could rely on them. Athos knew that much.

So he told Aramis everything. He told Aramis about how d’Artagnan had caught his eyes at the first meeting, how d’Artagnan’s laughter made his heart twist and his stomach churn. How d’Artagnan’s smile could make _him_ smile and how d’Artagnan had the cutest facial expressions in French, eyebrows tilted and cheeks blown out as he tried to focus. Athos told Aramis about how they had exchanged numbers just in case they needed help with the French homework but all Athos wanted to do was ask d’Artagnan if he wanted to see a movie, go to dinner, grab a coffee, _something_ if just so Athos could hear d’Artagnan complain about his little siblings or talk about some class that was causing him problems. Hell, Athos even admitted that he wanted to trace d’Artagnan’s lips with his fingers, that he wanted to see if his hair was as soft as it looked, that he wanted to know if d’Artagnan moaned when he was kissed or--

Yeah, Athos was well and truly fucked. It was a lot of things, but it was not ok. He was not ready to have feelings and he was especially not ready for them to be about another boy. 

Aramis listened, silent from shock and understanding, and said nothing for several seconds. Athos was half-convinced that he would laugh, but Aramis was a better person than that. He pulled Athos into a hug and this time it was not so one-sided. “Oh, Athos… It is going to be ok,” Aramis promised. “It’s going to be ok.” 

“I don’t-- I can’t date him, Aramis,” Athos admitted, stepping back and not meeting Aramis’ eyes. “I can’t do that.” There were a hundred questions in Aramis’ mind, all of them incredibly personal, and he knew that now was not the time.

So he just gave Athos a small, forced smile and grasped his shoulder. “It’s going to be ok, Athos. I promise you, it’s going to be ok.” And, for a moment, Athos let himself believe. 

\-----------------------

Of course it was only a matter of time until Porthos learned. Admittedly, it wasn’t like Athos wasn’t going to tell him eventually and Aramis had not been sworn to secrecy, but still. There had to be a better time to bring the subject up than during lunch several days later, d’Artagnan having gone off to the bathroom. Athos, certain that the teenager wouldn’t look back, allowed himself the simple pleasure of watching the way d’Artagnan’s jeans outlined his legs and ass. 

“When are you going to save yourself the trouble and just ask him out?” Porthos asked between bites of his sandwich. Athos raised an eyebrow and Porthos rolled his eyes. “Aramis told me. So I’ll say it again: when are you going to ask him out?” At least Aramis had the sense to wisely avoid meeting Athos’ eyes.

Athos gave up trying and settled on glowering at his food. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” was all he wanted to say on the matter. Of course that was not nearly enough for his friends, both of whom adopted matching frowns. Not that Athos would know, since he was still focused on not looking at them.

“You really should do it. The guy’s crazy for you; do you think he talks about conjugating French verbs with anyone else?” Aramis asked, words forming in a way that hinted at rehearsal. Athos wouldn’t put it past his friends to have come up with some sort of idiotic script or plan as an attempt to bring him and d’Artagnan together.

It would have been cute if it weren’t so infuriatingly _them._ “Besides, we know he’s gay. We met him at the GSA,” Porthos added as if that had been a concern. No, Athos was well aware that d’Artagnan batted for the other team as it were. The teen did nothing to hide his admiration (that was putting it lightly) for various male celebrities. That being said, he and Aramis talked far too much about clothes considering that d’Artagnan’s main fashion sense seemed to be skinny jeans and T-shirts. 

Still, Porthos’ assumption wasn’t exactly bulletproof. “I was at that meeting,” Athos pointed out. The larger teen raised an eyebrow and Athos flipped him off. “I’m straight,” he insisted, right as d’Artagnan came back and sat down again. 

“What we we talking about?” He asked, glancing from junior to junior. Aramis pursed his lips, clearly uncomfortable answering for Athos. As much as he wanted his friend to make a move, he also acknowledged the need for patience. It was the beginning of the school year; they had time.

Porthos, on the other hand, did not feel quite so patient. He leaned forward and gave Athos a meaningful look before saying, “Oh nothing important. Just talking about his sexuality.” Porthos motioned at Athos. There wasn’t enough time to beat him over the head with anything, though, because he withdrew back to the relative safety of his side of the table. 

Distracted, Athos almost missed the way d’Artagnan seemed just a little bit more interested in the conversation. He had his stupid, happy little smile on his face, the one that Athos was enthralled by because who could just be content with life? _Only d’Artagnan,_ the not-so repressed part of Athos’ mind supplied.

“Porthos and Aramis like to pretend that I have yet to find the right boy to settle down with,” Athos explained. “I promise them, however, that I will be the straight sheep of this group if it kills me.” With that, he picked at his chips and looked Aramis right in the eyes. There was no question of whether Aramis agreed or not with his decision, just whether he would blurt out the truth.

But, well, Aramis was many things but he wouldn’t betray his brother like that. 

There was a pause in the conversation. “Well it’s good you have us then,” d’Artagnan replied just a second too late for his hesitation to be anything other than incredibly significant. “It’d be such a shame if you had no exposure to our absolutely fabulous ways.” Aramis chuckled, recovering from his disappointment relatively quickly.

“I always thought it was a bit of a shame, personally. Athos is considered handsome, after all,” Aramis decided to say. Porthos shrugged, not at all bothered by the fact that his boyfriend was talking about his best friend. Whether it was because he knew Aramis had eyes only for him or the fact that Athos had eyes only for d’Artagnan was the real question. 

“He’s more rugged, I’d say,” Porthos replied. Athos grit his teeth, knowing that any comment would only encourage the two. 

“I suppose Athos is a bit of a looker,” d’Artagnan admitted, though he was clearly loathe to continue that particular line of conversation. That came of no surprise to Athos. He had spent the last few days receiving nothing but evidence on why d’Artagnan liked him (all sent from an oh-so helpful friend who thought hats were acceptable fashion in any situation) and, though Athos hated to admit it, not all of it was complete bullshit.

After all, Athos wasn’t completely blind. He could see the way d’Artagnan looked at him and he could feel the way d’Artagnan seemed to flinch and shake every time they brushed hands or bumped shoulders. If d’Artagnan _didn’t_ like Athos in a romantic sense, Athos would cut off his beard and eat it. 

“Stop harassing him you two,” Athos cut in regardless. He didn’t want to risk embarrassing d’Artagnan too much in exchange for a few words that he could cling onto about his physical appearance. Hell, that was about the last thing Athos actually needed. Memories of d’Artagnan complimenting him on his French pronunciation were bad enough. “Not everyone enjoys playing your little games.” 

Aramis let out a long-suffering sigh, which was completely unfair because this hadn’t been going on for any significant amount of time. “Whatever makes you happy, Athos.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm and spite, which Athos decided to ignore in favor of taking a gulp out of his soda. 

D’Artagnan, sensing that he had really intruded in on a much more serious conversation, wisely said nothing and continued to eat. Athos cursed whoever thought it was a smart idea to give d’Artagnan beautifully _full_ lips and a pudding cup, because seeing him lick his lips every few seconds was simply unfair. 

A lot of things, Athos had long ago decided, were unfair. 

\---------------------

“You’re an idiot.” Athos didn’t even justify that with a glance; he continued to work on his essay, hiding behind stacks and stacks of books in a vain attempt to keep Aramis and Porthos from finding him. The two hardly ever worked in the library in the first place, so he wasn’t too concerned.

“Hello, Constance.” He had not, however, accounted for someone else to come find him, let alone want to talk. Athos really should have, though; he knew Constance volunteered after school in the library and she was actually quite good friends with d’Artagnan. “It’s a surprise seeing you here,” Athos lied. “What ever do you want to talk about?” 

Constance was having none of his shit. She sat down across from him and slammed his book shut. Athos looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t your job to keep this place quiet?” He drawled. “Besides,” Athos decided to add, “I’m actually trying to work.” And he was, for once. As much of a troublemaker as he could be, Athos didn’t actually want to fail high school. 

“You know what I want to talk about, Athos.” Constance waited, expecting him to say something. When Athos remained tight-lipped, she continued. “You’re an idiot; d’Artagnan has the most obvious crush on you and--” He glared at her and it was harsh enough to stop her mid-sentence. He didn’t even have the energy to feel bad. 

“If you are here to talk to me about d’Artagnan, my dating habits, or anything that could be even remotely connected, then leave.” Athos let out a heavy sigh. “I am not going to date him. I’m not even interested in-- in guys,” he insisted, though even to his own ears it sounded weak and altogether less of an excuse and more of a lie. Constance raised an eyebrow; she didn’t even need to say anything before Athos absolutely crumbled.

“Listen,” he began, “d’Artagnan is fantastic. He’s cheerful and brilliant and sees the best in people. His sense of wit could rival Aramis’ and it’s obvious that he’s talented in plenty of ways. But he’s also fourteen. He’s naive and thinks that the world is a good place.” Athos motioned to himself. “I am not. I’m not even seventeen and I already hate the world. I’m a cynical asshole who doesn’t deserve whatever he feels for me; my only redeeming quality is my wonderful snark. I could never be _enough_ for him, let alone _good enough._ ” Athos scowled and shifted, looking away. “D’Artagnan is young and wonderful and attractive. He will find someone else, someone who is worthy of his feelings.” 

Constance remained silent throughout this entire tirade and said nothing even as Athos stopped. The quiet of the library stretched over them and Athos fidgeted in his seat. Given time, he would no doubt have continued, but Constance was sick of waiting. 

“Have you thought about what d’Artagnan might think?” She asked, crossing her arms. “He’s mad for you! Even though you never smile and you hate the world, he likes you. A lot.” Constance sighed and shook her head. “Maybe you’re a miserable teenager, but have you thought that it’s because you don’t let yourself be happy?” She glanced around the library.

It was fairly quiet, a few groups of students trying to work but mostly just parents with little kids or retired folks wandering the halls, all looking for something to do in their free time. No one was giving the two of them any attention, not even though Athos looked like he was going to scream and Constance looked like she was going to punch him. In all honesty, he probably deserved it. That didn’t mean he wanted it to happen, though.

“It would be better for him if we didn’t date,” Athos repeated, though at this point it was hard to say whether it was for his benefit or Constance’s. “I know that it’s all nice and pretty to imagine that a good relationship can fix someone, can turn someone like me into a cheerful and happy person, but it doesn’t work that way. And I refuse to be his first heartbreak.” Athos sighed and opened his book back up. “Please just drop the subject, Constance. There is no point in talking about it further.” 

A million thoughts whirled around in her head, and for a moment Athos thought he had gotten rid of her, but Constance stayed. She stayed and she grit her teeth and she grabbed Athos by the collar and yanked him forward. “You already broke his heart, Athos. You have the chance to fix things and to make him realize that you do like him and that you do want to date him.” Constance let Athos go and he sunk back down into his seat, flustered beyond words. 

It wasn’t even that Athos was still in a crisis over his sexuality. Yes, it was bizarre to think that he wanted to date another guy. No, it wasn’t a big enough problem or source of confusion that he didn’t want to date d’Artagnan entirely. The problem was, simply put, that Athos was not good enough. He never would be and he never could be. 

Constance seemed to sense the conflict going on in Athos’ brain, because she just let out another sigh and stood. “He thinks you could never feel the same way about him, because you’re straight. That if he tells you how he feels that you’ll hate him. Do you really want him to believe that?” She left before Athos could reply. 

He sighed and looked at his book, suddenly in no mood to work. It was times like these that made him wish he could drink. Instead he leaned back in his seat and rubbed his face with his hands. Athos was certain that he was going to regret this, but he could add another regret to his list right? It was hardly like the situation could get any worse.

He pulled out his phone and sent off a quick text to d’Artagnan, asking if the other teen wanted to meet up over the weekend for coffee or something. It was a mixed blessing and a curse that d’Artagnan replied less than five minutes later, saying that he was free tomorrow and that coffee sounded great. 

Athos let his head hit the table with a satisfying thunk. 

\----------------------

“You can do this,” Athos told himself as he walked into The Coffee Bean and made a beeline for the table in the corner. Thankfully d’Artagnan hadn’t arrived yet, nor was it particularly busy, so Athos had his pick of seats. He planted his back against a wall, left his backpack on the chair, and went to order coffee with a shot of espresso to keep himself awake. Realizing that he hadn’t eaten that day, he got a scone as well. 

Athos was waiting for his coffee when d’Artagnan walked into the little cafe with a light brown messenger bag over one shoulder and that damn grin plastered on his face. The freshman scanned the room for Athos and brightened when he saw him, walking over immediately. For a dreadful moment, Athos thought that d’Artagnan was going to hug him, but that fear didn’t come to pass. Instead, d’Artagnan slugged him on the shoulder.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Porthos,” Athos decided, though now that he knew Constance better it could easily be her influence as well. That just made d’Artagnan grin a little more as he chuckled, shaking his head back and forth. “Order something and then we can talk. I got us a table over there.” Athos motioned towards where his backpack was sitting.

“Echos? I’ve got a coffee for Echos?” The barista shouted. Athos winced; it was hardly the worst mispronunciation of his name, but still. That’s what he got for having his parents give him the middle name of a mountain, he supposed. D’Artagnan laughed and Athos rolled his eyes, looking away in hopes of hiding the bemused smile that threatened to show on his face.

Instead, he just grabbed his coffee and sat, waiting for d’Artagnan to join him. While Athos waited, he nibbled on his scone. Now that the person who was taking up so much of his thoughts was there, Athos hardly felt hungry. It would be a waste to throw it out, though, so he did his best to eat it. Besides, maybe this way he could get his mind off of ridiculously attractive teenagers in black skinny jeans and an almost too-big jacket. 

“How are you?” d’Artagnan asked as he sat down across from Athos. Their knees brushed under the table and Athos prayed to whatever divine being ruled the world that his face wasn’t bright red. “You didn’t come to the meeting this week,” d’Artagnan pointed out. 

_Of course he noticed,_ Athos thought. _Just my luck. Dammit._ Athos shrugged and took his time to sip at his drink. “I was busy,” he replied. _Yes, busy avoiding you because I thought that if I spent less time around you then I would like you less._ Athos wasn’t quite distracted enough to say that aloud, though.

D’Artagnan nodded in sympathy. “You’re a junior, yeah?” Athos nodded. “Does it ever feel weird? Like you can’t believe you’re here?” That got Athos laughing; he had spent most of his life in a private school with his little brother and the girl he thought he would marry. Then he found that she was cheating on him with his own brother and, in a fit of rage, had attacked both of them. 

For rather understandable reasons, he was kicked out of the school and was suddenly the black sheep of the family. So no, he had never thought he would be at the local public school with a crush on a freshman from New York (and not Tenessee, though Porthos and Aramis had not yet called d’Artagnan out on that lie). That had never been the plan, not even a back-up to the back-up. 

And as bitter and angry as the entire situation made Athos (at least when he bothered to think about it), he couldn’t help but admit that he wouldn’t trade Porthos or Aramis for anyone or anything. D’Artagnan, the annoying little shit, was quickly pushing his way into that category of friend.

“I’m very surprised,” Athos admitted, though he didn’t explain why. D’Artagnan seemed satisfied, though, and went back to his own drink. It was more sugar than coffee, with whipped cream on the top that kept getting on his nose. Athos had to clutch onto his own cup in order to stop himself from brushing it off. Instead, he got to suffer the sight of d’Artagnan licking the top of his nose.

Athos made a face and d’Artagnan laughed. “I’m a man of many talents,” he explained. _That you are,_ Athos agreed mentally. Aloud, of course, he said no such thing. He decided that no words were better than some and remained silent. D’Artagnan seemed a bit upset, but he said nothing and just continued to drink.

 _You can do this. You planned this out. For once you have a game plan. Use it,_ Athos told himself. He took a deep breath and swallowed down the majority of his doubts. “I wanted to talk to you about something rather serious,” Athos began. D’Artagnan nodded and motioned for him to continue. “When… When did you start identifying as gay?” 

There. That was it. Well, not really, but that was the start and now Athos could just lean back and relax. So he did just that, though the relaxing part of it was not so good. He could sense the confusion rolling off of d’Artagnan in waves and Athos bit his lip. “Just between us. I’m… curious.” 

That seemed to help d’Artagnan relax, but he still fidgeted with a napkin that had been left on the table. “I just… I don’t know. It’s so stereotypical but I just never had a crush on a girl.” He shrugged. “Even when the rest of the boys were chasing girls or whatever, I didn’t care.” A small smile appeared on d’Artagnan’s face. “My first kiss was with a boy named Jean in the first grade. He punched me and told me never to do that again.”

“Did he get in trouble?” Athos asked, surprised. He had never asked Aramis or Porthos for their life story, but he always assumed people didn’t figure ‘it’ out until later (whatever ‘it’ happened to be). The idea of d’Artagnan getting punched for kissing someone… it didn’t sit well with Athos.

“No, but I stopped being his friend so it doesn’t matter.” D’Artagnan shrugged. “I figured it out pretty quick, honestly. Not many guys like me where I’m from, though.” He paused. “You can… Well, don’t punch me because you are no doubt much stronger than first grade Jean, but I have to ask… Are you questioning?” 

That was a very, very nice way of putting it. At this point, Athos was past the ‘question’ and onto the ‘answer’ bit. “I have… feelings for someone,” Athos admitted, watching d’Artagnan’s face carefully. The freshman looked surprised, and then sad. “I know he’s gay but I don’t think he likes me back,” Athos added. 

“Really? What makes you think that?” D’Artagnan asked. He leaned forward, eyes bright and wide and absolutely beautiful. Athos resisted the urge to kiss him; if d’Artagnan was a girl, Athos would never kiss without asking or ensuring he had permission. (He had heard enough rants from Ninon on the subject of consent.)

Instead, Athos forced himself to focus on the topic at hand. “He’s so open and kind with everyone. I know he’s rather popular, lots of friends, that type of a guy.” Athos swallowed, wishing he had checked if his breath smelled like coffee. Did he have any mints? Was it too obvious if he ate one now? “And he’s attractive. Everyone thinks so.”

“I’m sure if you ask nicely, Porthos would share Aramis,” d’Artagnan deadpanned. Athos rolled his eyes but didn’t stop himself from laughing just a little. The look on d’Artagnan’s face could only be described as happiness and pride, and Athos wanted to take credit for that. He had made d’Artagnan feel that way, not some other nameless person. Not someone who, without a doubt, actually deserved d’Artagnan’s friendship and company. “But really, Athos. You’re not that bad once you open up to people. I’m… I’m sure that whoever he is, he feels the same way.”

 _You have no idea._ Athos did his best to never let anyone in, but d’Artagnan had smashed down the walls that Porthos and Aramis had climbed over. It was absolutely ridiculous and Athos knew what he had to do but he really, _really_ didn’t want to. Too much of a risk, too high a chance that it would all go horribly wrong. He could survive as things were, he could ignore his feelings. They weren’t that important after all. 

_Have you thought that it’s because you don’t let yourself be happy?_ Constance’s voice echoed in his head. Athos sighed and rolled his shoulders, sitting up a little straighter and hoping that he didn’t look like an idiot. He really hoped that d’Artagnan wasn’t going to punch him or get offended; he had every right to be, after Athos had lied to his face, but surely he’d understand?

“I… I like you, d’Artagnan. A lot.” Saying it aloud was strange. It made it feel less real but also completely tangible. As if the words in the air made them an entirely different thing that Athos couldn’t describe. 

D’Artagnan looked at him and blinked. “What?” He was shocked but not hurt, if Athos was reading him correctly. “I mean. As friends, yeah, I know.” D’Artagnan was giving him a way out, a way to take it back and to save the two of them undeniable embarrassment. It was a welcome sign but also something Athos had expected and prepared himself for.

He shook his head. “No, d’Artagnan as…” Athos took a deep breath and closed his eyes, only opening them when he was ready. “I would like to go on a date with you. As more than friends.” Athos forced himself to look at d’Artagnan and tried to adopt his best nonchalant expression. The look on d’Artagnan’s face made the effort very, _very_ difficult.

To put it simply, d’Artagnan looked like a puppy who was about to get a treat. But Athos couldn’t just see that. No, he could see the light that just switched on, suddenly flooding d’Artagnan’s face with brightness. D’Artagnan smiled, a blinding combination of hope and happiness and excitement that Athos hadn’t seen before. There was no mistaking the fact fact that d’Artagnan felt everything that Athos had feared he would. They both wanted this and they both were going to try to make it work, but that would make the ending even more tragic. 

Right?

“I would love to go on a date,” d’Artagnan replied, and for a moment Athos’ fears disappeared. He allowed himself to smile and he reached across the table to take d’Artagnan’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. This much, at least, was easy. Simple. Something Athos knew how to do without horribly messing up. 

Athos took a deep breath and met d’Artagnan’s eyes. For now, at least, it was nice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell this turned out long. I apologize for the wait but hey, it's over! And now I can get working on the next AU (which will be shorter than this because this was a monster). If you have any suggestions or something in particular you'd like to see, just shoot me a message either in the comments or through PM! And if you are so inclined, follow me on tumblr [here!](http://thepoetofjustice.tumblr.com/)

The look on Aramis’ face when Athos reappeared in front of the computer made words unnecessary, but that didn’t stop Porthos from telling Athos just how horrible of an idea it was to wear a button-up and slacks to a dinner and movie date. A casual date, as Porthos reminded him, which meant that jeans were a must and nothing more complicated than that could be worn.

“You look like you’re going to the theater,” Aramis added rather unhelpfully. Athos rolled his eyes but admitted that his two friends had far more experience in this sort of a thing than he did. That was why he was skyping them, after all, at five pm on a Friday night. Well, he had intended on only talking to Aramis, but apparently Porthos was spending the night at the d’Herblay household.

As much as Athos liked to pretend that he didn’t need his friends, in reality they helped him with just about everything. Including, it appeared, what to wear on first dates with freshmen who had managed to be the cause of emotional distress and a small sexuality crisis, but that was probably just normal teenage stuff, right?

“Wear those dark blue jeans and one of your plain T-shirts. I know you own them,” Aramis decided, snapping his fingers. Athos raised an eyebrow, though he was out of sight of the laptop camera. He stripped out of his first outfit and went to look for the clothes in question, soon finding himself a bit confused.

“You meant these pants?” Athos asked, holding up a pair of ratty jeans which were less blue and more green, pink, and yellow. “I wore these when we went paintballing for Porthos’ sixteenth birthday. They’re a mess,” Athos pointed out, as if Aramis didn’t have the ability to see and judge that himself.

Aramis nodded. “That’s the point. You’re going to show d’Artagnan that you don’t have a stick up your ass.” Athos wasn’t sure that looking like he was attacked by a paint monster on the way to the date was the best idea, but for some reason he was trusting Aramis on this. Regardless, there were many things Aramis would do to interfere in a person’s love life, but he would never purposefully sabotage it. And definitely not the budding relationship between Athos and d’Artagnan.

Hell, Aramis had just stopped short of throwing a party when he learned that Athos had actually asked d’Artagnan out. It was both flattering and absolutely ridiculous. Despite common belief, Athos was not _entirely_ hopeless with romance. Just _mostly_ hopeless.

“Fine,” Athos decided after thinking it over. The jeans fit and they didn’t have any holes in them, so they passed the test. His mother would have a heart attack no doubt, but she thought he was going out to see a movie with Aramis and Porthos so she wouldn’t give him too much grief. If she knew the truth? Well, that was a different matter.

“Wear the shirt with those stripes. It’s grey and red I think?” Porthos suggested from where he was sitting at Aramis’ side. Upon a nod from Aramis, Athos went to fetch the shirt. “What movie are you two seeing again?” Porthos asked, sounding genuinely interested. He, at least, had a normal reaction to hearing the good news. He did give d’Artagnan a shovel talk, which Athos considered wholly unnecessary, while Constance delivered a similar one to Athos.

That was also an unnecessary conversation, mostly because Athos knew perfectly well that he would be murdered, painfully and brutally, if he hurt d’Artagnan. The boy deserved nothing less in terms of retribution. While Athos could not promise to be perfect and to do everything the way d’Artagnan deserved, at least it was possible to reassure Constance that none of it would be purposeful. Athos didn’t want to screw this up, for his sake and d’Artagnan’s.

“We’re seeing some action movie d’Artagnan’s been talking about. Snowman or Snowprint or something like that, I don’t remember.” Athos shrugged. “He seemed excited enough, so hopefully it doesn’t let him down.” Porthos and Aramis exchanged grins that they probably thought would get past Athos. Of course they were wrong. “What was that for?”

“D’Artagnan’s mentioned that movie twice, at most,” Aramis replied. “It’s the actor who’s in it that he really wants to see.” Athos rolled his eyes as his two friends essentially fell into giggles like five year old children. Apparently the idea of Athos bringing d’Artagnan on a date to see his favorite actor was too amusing for them.

Though that did beg the question… “Should I look up the actor or trivia or anything?” Athos asked, pulling his shirt on and sitting down in front of the laptop. He had made a mess of his hair but that was a given. The damn truth of the matter was that his appearance did nothing to help him appear presentable, and Athos was really hoping that Aramis wasn’t just having a laugh at his expense.

“Please no,” Porthos cut in before Aramis could actually reply. “D’Artagnan can go on for long enough without you enabling him.” Athos had to admit that the idea of spending an entire date listening to the person he had a crush on talk about someone else was not ideal. Even if that person was an actor and not an actual rival.

 _Oh god, I’m already thinking about rivals._ Athos sighed and scratched his beard. “Any last minute tips?” He asked. Aramis and Porthos exchanged another look. This one was much less concerning. Athos could see actual concern, a sense of ‘how are we going to help our utterly useless friend’ which was mildly offensive but mostly just a relief. It was nice to know that his friends wanted him to succeed.

“We talked about this and we agree,” Aramis began, ever the diplomat.

“Don’t mention Anne,” Porthos cut in. Aramis elbowed him in the side and Porthos swore; Athos got the feeling that they had decided on some kind of elaborate, polite way of putting it, but he was glad they hadn’t stuck to that. “It’s something you should tell him eventually, but not on the first date.”

Athos wanted to say that he would never do that, he knew better than to bring up his disastrous last relationship. Even Aramis and Porthos only knew a few details (Athos had wisely left out the part about him attacking his own brother). But, well, it went without saying that Athos felt incredibly inadequate when it came to d’Artagnan and Athos could understand why his friends were concerned.

“I won’t. Not now anyway.” Athos made a face. “Believe it or not, I want this to work out.” Aramis grinned, knowing that the little confession was an enormous deal for Athos. “Don’t you dare,” Athos warned. He could just see Aramis about to go on and on about how happy he was that his friend was finally going to be happy, but that was not a conversation Athos was prepared for.

It was touching, sure, but a bit _much./i > “I have to go,” Athos added, glancing at his phone. “I’ll tell you how it goes.” He barely waited for Aramis and Porthos to say their goodbyes before ending the skype call and closing his laptop._

Athos stared at his wall, took a deep breath, and grabbed his jacket.

“I’m going to hang out with Aramis and Porthos,” he shouted as he dashed down the stairs, every model of a stereotypical teenager. Athos didn’t wait for a reply as he got to the garage and took off. He had a date to get to.

\-----------

“Athos!” _Oh god he’s beautiful,_ Athos thought immediately as d’Artagnan exited a beat-up truck and ran over, that stupid smile on his face. He didn’t wait for his parent to drive off before pulling Athos into a full-body hug. While usually Athos would have bristled and probably punched whoever touched him without asking, for once it was a welcome surprise and Athos let himself enjoy the feeling. D’Artagnan gave really good hugs, Athos decided.

He also had a lot of tight jeans that looked fantastic on him, but that was beside the point.

“How are you?” D’Artagnan asked, pulling away after a moment. Athos didn’t miss the way his eyes looked over him or the slight flush that tinted d’Artagnan’s tan skin. It was only fair because Athos was definitely enjoying the way d’Artagnan’s button-up clung to his chest and the way his jeans outlined his legs and various… Assets.

“I just saw you three hours ago,” Athos replied, falling back to his snark for lack of any other idea of what to do. “I assure you that nothing has gone drastically wrong.” He glanced behind d’Artagnan and realized that the car d’Artagnan had arrived in was still at the curb. “Perhaps we should get our tickets now? We can go to dinner after, I just thought we should buy the tickets first,” Athos suggested.

D’Artagnan noticed that Athos was looking behind him and glanced around. He sighed and gave Athos an apologetic look. “Just ignore him. My dad is a bit protective.” He motioned for Athos to lead the way.

Ignoring the stab of fear that rushed into Athos’ chest, he nodded and walked to the ticket booth. Almost immediately Athos realized what he had forgotten to ask Aramis, Constance, or just about anyone he could have asked for advice. How in the world was paying for everything going to go? If d’Artagnan was a girl, Athos would have insisted on paying. He also was much wealthier than most of the people he knew nowadays, a fact that Aramis and Porthos liked to tease him about.

“Two tickets to…” Athos squinted at the sign behind the counter. “The seven thirty Snowpiercer.” That was the right movie, right? A quick glance at d’Artagnan confirmed Athos’ decision. The freshman seemed perfectly content with the movie and with Athos paying. With that out of the way, Athos felt a little more comfortable. Not by much, but enough that he was confident enough to take the two tickets and put them in his wallet.

“Are you going to start holding doors open for me?” D’Artagnan teased as they walked over to the little restaurant they had agreed upon. Athos rolled his eyes and did just that, raising an eyebrow at d’Artagnan as if challenging him to argue. “Such a gentleman.” D’Artagnan said nothing else as they were seated across from one another.

Athos was nervous, but he found that this was no different than all the lunch periods he had spent with d’Artagnan except for the setting and the lack of two other people. Overall, though, it was better than anything previous because now he was allowed to look. He could blush when their hands touched and their knees knocked. Athos didn’t have to act like the air in his lungs didn’t disappear whenever d’Artagnan smiled at him, he didn’t have to pretend that he looked at d’Artagnan as anything other than a friend. It was absolutely fantastic and it didn’t even matter that their waiter was overwhelmed and it took ten minutes to get anything to drink, let alone order food.

No, Athos was enjoying himself and he couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t done this before. It was much different than time spent with Anne. Even at the heyday of their relationship it had been tense, as if the smallest action on Athos’ part would send her flying into a rage or something similar. Besides, Athos didn’t have to think about every action. It didn’t matter if he snorted at one of d’Artagnan’s jokes instead of laughing because d’Artagnan understood that Athos rarely showed emotion anyway, that for Athos a snort was laughter.

This was easy and simple and _nice._ Athos didn’t realize what he had been missing until he got it and now? Well, now he didn’t want to ever let go.

“I can pay,” d’Artagnan insisted as the bill came, sitting between the two of them. The little slip of paper was facing down and seemed to be there to taunt Athos. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to pay for the meal, but there was d’Artagnan to be reckoned with. A physical force who looked like he actually did want to pay, that he wasn’t just offering to be polite like a girl would.

Athos forced himself to take a deep breath and nodded. “But let me take care of the tip,” he added in order to pacify himself more than his date. D’Artagnan considered it and, after a moment, decided that was an acceptable deal.

 _Was that good? Did I do the right thing?_ Athos wished that he could sneak off and text Aramis, except he also had a feeling all Aramis would say was to get out of the bathroom and talk to d’Artagnan. That was how this whole business started in the first place, after all. But, well, that felt too much like a cop out and Athos wasn’t quite that pathetic.

Yet. There was always time for Athos to horribly mess up and cause the utter destruction of the first promising romantic relationship he had since Anne, but hopefully that wouldn’t happen.

“I’ve wanted to see this movie for ages,” d’Artagnan admitted as they went into the theater and found places to sit. It wasn’t due to start for another thirty minutes but the seats were already half-full and Athos was glad that he had planned for that possibility. “The main actor is really attractive.” D’Artagnan immediately blushed and looked at Athos like he had just said that he had run over Athos’ cat.

Honestly, if d’Artagnan did that Athos wouldn’t have cared, but the principle was there. “D’Artagnan, I am completely fine with you finding other people attractive.” Athos motioned at himself. “Besides, I am hardly the specimen of good looks.” Now d’Artagnan looked like he wanted to say something else, but Athos was not prepared for that conversation. “Don’t you dare,” Athos warned.

“I think you look rather handsome,” d’Artagnan murmured, as if he was hoping that Athos would not hear him. He didn’t meet Athos’ eyes, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Though,” he added, “You’re dressed a bit different than usual.” D’Artagnan smirked and glanced back at Athos, a knowing look in his eyes.

Athos sighed. “Yes, it was Aramis. He promised that it would be a good change from what I usually wear.” He looked down at his clothes and let his scowl grow. Athos opened his mouth to ask if he had to threaten Aramis, but before he could he felt d’Artagnan rest a hand on his arm. Looking at d’Artagnan, it was impossible to be really angry. Athos just couldn’t remember how. He was too busy appreciating that this beautiful, physically and mentally, human being was willing to give a fuck up like him a chance.

“You look just fine,” d’Artagnan promised. “Though the paint-splattered look was much more popular in sixth grade.” He grinned and Athos couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Yes, d’Artagnan was amazing and Athos was quickly falling more and more for him, but that didn’t stop the freshman from being an annoying little shit.

In many ways, that was what Athos enjoyed about him: he did not hold back, he did not stop himself from saying what on his mind, and he was almost as snarky as Aramis. Almost, of course. Athos wasn’t sure anyone could match Aramis in that category.

“So then when was pretending to be from Tennessee popular?” Athos asked, seeing the opportunity. D’Artagnan adopted an offended look that would have worked better if not for the gleam in his eyes. “I can’t believe Aramis and Porthos haven’t caught on yet,” Athos admitted, shaking his head. Constance had picked up on it just as fast as Athos had, but the two people Athos considered his brothers were still oblivious to it.

D’Artagnan shrugged. “They’ll figure it out eventually.” He grinned and adopted what Athos was certain was the worst, most overdone Midwestern cowboy accent in the world. “When ya’ll come ter meet mah parents on the farm.” He broke out into loud, peeling laughter as Athos glared at him and tried to cover his mouth with a hand.

“Please for all that you hold dear, never speak like that again.” Athos definitely did not yelp when d’Artagnan licked his hand. No, it was more of a sound of alarm that wasn’t a yelp. Regardless, Athos pulled his hand away and scowled at d’Artagnan, wiping his hand off on his pants. “Now that is something someone from Tennessee would do,” Athos muttered, even though he had never actually met a person from that particular state.

It got a laugh out of d’Artagnan though, a more clear-cut sound than the maddening barked laughter that had escaped him when he licked Athos’ hand. It was nice to think that he, Athos, could get different reactions out of the same person. Athos was even able to convince himself that it made him special somehow, that d’Artagnan considered him special.

“Don’t worry, the movie’s about to start,” d’Artagnan replied as the lights went down. “And I don’t talk during movies.”

Athos considered moving the armrest that lay between them, if only to just press up against d’Artagnan a little more, but he decided against it. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that and he didn’t know how d’Artagnan would react. Besides, with any luck there would be plenty of other dates for them to sit close together.

\----------------

The date was so absolutely fantastic that Athos put up only token resistance when Aramis pressed him for details the next day, sending a heavily watered-down and somewhat filtered version of his thoughts through text. Athos couldn’t help but admit that d’Artagnan’s laugh was infectious and echoed in his dreams, nor could he leave out the obvious gleam of happiness that had settled into d’Artagnan’s eyes as the movie progressed. Indeed, Athos felt like the date had gone well and he told Aramis that in no uncertain terms.

So when Aramis, who was on the other end of a skype call once again, let out a heavy sigh and shared a look with Porthos, Athos felt a stab of fear. “Did I do something wrong?” He asked, hoping his concern wasn’t too obvious. There was his reputation of a heartless and unemotional being to hold onto, after all.

“You should have kissed him,” Porthos explained. Aramis nodded empathetically and Athos shook his head.

“It wasn’t the right time,” he argued. “We just went out to watch a movie and get dinner--”

“And I would bet my left arm that you spent the entire time thinking about what you wanted to do with him,” Aramis interrupted. Athos opened and closed his mouth a few times before settling on a scowl and his best murderous glare. That generally got the point across, but his friends were used to it and Aramis just chuckled.

Porthos, at least, had the sense to look at least a little offended. “Regardless,” he began, “You and he are dating now. Eventually you’re going to kiss.” Porthos leaned back in his seat, absent-mindedly playing with Aramis’ hair. “If you think last night was not the right time, then you’re right.”

Athos was tempted to ask for advice, but he had too much pride to do so. This whole matter was embarrassing enough, if he thought too long about it. Even though Aramis and Porthos were being supportive about it, that didn’t change the fact that Athos was in a relationship with another guy. And, to top it all off, someone who was two years his junior. That wasn’t a large difference in the grand scheme of things, perhaps, but in high school it was noticeable.

“You’ll know when it’s time,” Porthos added, for once being the sensible one in his relationship. Aramis nodded and caught Porthos’ hand, threading their fingers together. It was a fluid and casual movement and Athos couldn’t help but feel a little jealous about the ease at which the two of them could be together.

When he was with d’Artagnan, half of his thoughts were spent panicking over what he just did and the other half were wondering what on earth had convinced d’Artagnan to waste his time with someone like Athos. It was stressful and also the happiest Athos felt, which was probably concerning for various reasons. Regardless, he didn’t want it to stop.

“Do you think you’ll meet his parents anytime soon?” Aramis asked, changing the subject. Athos let out a laugh. “I will take that as a no.”

 _I would rather eat Porthos’ cooking than meet d’Artagnan’s parents,_ Athos thought. He was smart enough not to say that aloud, though. “I doubt that we are that serious. Besides, it isn’t like he’ll want me to meet them.” Of that, Athos was fairly confident.

\----------------

“Hey, handsome.” D’Artagnan smirked at Athos, who rolled his eyes. He was quite confident that, half-asleep and wearing the same pants as yesterday (he remembered to change his shirt at least), he was not attractive in the least. Of course the way d’Artagnan was looking at him called that into question, but Athos had decided that it was easier to understand everything d’Artagnan did if one just assumed he was not seeing the world the same way as everyone else.

Still, Athos didn’t justify that with a full smile or even anything more than the smallest acknowledgement. He slid his French notebook out of his locker and made sure that he had everything before closing it, the sound echoing down the mostly empty hall. He had gotten to school a bit earlier than usual and was only mildly surprised to see d’Artagnan there as well. For whatever reason, the freshman seemed to get to school as soon as it opened.

“I was thinking,” d’Artagnan began, “that we should go on another date.” Out of pure instinct for self-preservation, Athos glanced around to see if anyone could have heard. There was no one else in the hall and he forced himself to relax. Even if someone did overhear, it wasn’t like the news would get back to his parents.

“I see.” Athos glanced at d’Artagnan and realized the teen was actually concerned about something. “Was the last one so horrible that you feel the need to give me guidelines this time?” That seemed to break the tension a little. At least, d’Artagnan snorted and rolled his eyes.

“No,” he replied as he crossed his arms. “I was just thinking that it might be fun if we went on a group date.” Athos blinked in confusion. “Like, a double date. Four of us. To dinner and something else. Like, I don’t know, bowling or something.” D’Artagnan blushed faintly and Athos felt the very real urge to kiss him. Recently it was starting to be a problem; at the most inconvenient times, d’Artagnan would do something attractive and Athos would want nothing more than to hug him and never let go (and usually do other things with him).

Then Athos’ brain registered what else d’Artagnan had said. “A double date.” Athos didn’t really want to do anything like that, but he was willing to at least try if just for his boyfriend’s sake. (He had a boyfriend! Who liked him! And was incredibly attractive!)

D’Artagnan nodded. “I suppose you have an idea of who we would do this with?” Athos asked, as if he really needed to.

“Well, yeah…” As if waiting for his cue, Aramis came down the hall and wrapped an arm around d’Artagnan’s shoulders. “Hello, Aramis. We were just talking about you,” the freshman admitted, displaying what Athos was starting to understand as a complete lack of self-preservation.

“Of course you were,” Aramis replied. “I am a rather interesting discussion topic. Tell me,” he continued, speaking so seriously that he might as well have been asking about someone’s dying aunt, “Were you talking about my hair or was it something else? Because I’ve been considering getting it cut but we all know how much Porthos likes it long.” Aramis waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Athos groaned.

“Just because I have a boyfriend does not mean you are allowed to say things like that,” Athos complained. Aramis placed a hand over his heart and frowned. “No, none of that. I am not Porthos; your puppy dog eyes do not work against me.” In that moment, d’Artagnan just had to jump in.

“Does that mean mine would?” He asked. Athos rolled his eyes and wondered why he was dating d’Artagnan again. The information his mind threw at him made it quite clear that, in short, there was no reason he shouldn’t date d’Artagnan. (Except for the whole parent thing, but Athos would get there when he got there.)

“We are not having this discussion,” Athos declared, shouldering his backpack and making his way towards the lunchroom. Aramis and d’Artagnan fell into step behind him, chattering like the two social butterflies they were. For the most part, Athos was completely content to just listen to them talk about whatever came up.

It was largely unimportant nonsense, things about class or the last episode of America’s Next Top Model. But Athos paid enough attention to realize when the conversation was coming around to him and his relationship with d’Artagnan.

“I’ll talk to Porthos about it, but that sounds like it would be some good fun,” Aramis was saying. Athos turned around to raise an eyebrow at the two and Aramis tipped his fedora at him. “Your wonderful boyfriend just asked if I would want to go on a double date with you two. I’m sure you have no objections?” Aramis grinned and Athos scowled.

“You’re lucky I like d’Artagnan,” he muttered. It wasn’t the first time that he had said it, and certainly not to Aramis or d’Artagnan, but every time he did there was a flash of fear. Perhaps d’Artagnan would get bored of him or the wrong person would overhear. Athos didn’t know which would be worse.

But for now it was ok. No one was around except for a smiling Aramis and an absolutely beaming d’Artagnan. “I like you too,” the freshman replied. He stepped forward and squeezed Athos’ hand, letting go almost immediately when Athos didn’t respond in kind. Athos was entirely aware that he tensed up, not expecting such an open sign of affection.

If d’Artagnan was offended, he said nothing. Athos was thankful for that. “If we do a double date,” d’Artagnan told Aramis, shifting so he could face the older two teens, “we get to decide where it is.” Athos didn’t think it would matter if they went to the fucking opera, Aramis and Porthos would still find a way to horrifically embarrass him, but it was sweet that d’Artagnan was going to try.

Then again, it was entirely possible that d’Artagnan wanted Athos to do something stupid so he would have a reason to break their relationship off. (Athos was starting to think he needed to worry less or something, but he wasn’t sure how.)

“One rule,” Aramis countered. “No dates where we can’t talk.” D’Artagnan raised an eyebrow. “Like, no movies or anything like that.” Aramis grinned. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to give Athos the full experience.”

D’Artagnan returned the grin and extended a hand. Aramis took it and they shook on it. Athos looked up at the ceiling and prayed to a God he didn’t believe in to give him strength. He had the feeling that he would need it.

\----------------

“I think that went well,” d’Artagnan decided as Aramis and Porthos drove off, leaving the other two standing at the entrance to the arcade. Athos snorted and said nothing, surprised that d’Artagnan was not mildly traumatized. Aramis had casually shot ten bullseyes in a row while discussing how Athos was one of his best friends. D’Artagnan had looked like he was going to faint on the spot, at least for the times Athos could bring himself to watch.

If that was how Aramis delivered the shovel talk, Athos didn’t want to know how Porthos did it. “I’m glad you didn’t run away screaming,” Athos settled on saying with a mix of deadpan sarcasm and honesty. D’Artagnan shrugged and nudged Athos with his shoulder.

“My dad took me shooting every weekend when I was eight until I was fifteen. Guns don’t scare me. Especially not little plastic ones.” Athos muttered something about upstate New York, liars, and Tennessee. D’Artagnan raised an eyebrow. He seemed somewhat pacified when Athos squeezed his hand, a rare sign of physical affection.

It was the small smile that d’Artagnan gave him that convinced Athos that he would be fine if they continued to hold hands. After all, Athos did enjoy it. He liked feeling as if he were special, as if d’Artagnan was his boyfriend and that the whole world could know. It was just that Athos couldn’t shake the feeling of fear that crawled up his spine nor could he stop the way he glanced from side to side, hoping that he didn’t know anyone nearby.

A group of teenagers from another school (thank god) walked by and one of them narrowed his eyes when he saw Athos and d’Artagnan holding hands. “Faggots,” he hissed, each sound flowing into the next.

Immediately, Athos let go of d’Artagnan’s hand and marched up into the other teen’s face. The two of them were about the same height, but it was rather clear that the stranger had muscle that Athos lacked. Still, Athos had a sneer that was practiced and had an edge that could cause even Aramis to hesitate. That expression, plus no small amount of fury that lit up inside of his stomach, morphed Athos from perfectly content to ready to fight someone.

Behind him, d’Artagnan shifted from side to side. “It’s ok,” he murmured. “They aren’t worth it.” But you are, Athos wanted to reply. Instead he just scoffed and turned his back to the bigots in question. “Let’s wait over there,” d’Artagnan suggested, pointing to the far corner which was conveniently out of the way of all the other patrons. Athos nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and let d’Artagnan take his arm and start to lead him over.

“Yeah, go and run away you fucking gays,” the person from before called out. Athos stopped in his tracks and d’Artagnan sighed. The two turned around almost simultaneously. D’Artagnan did nothing to try to stop his boyfriend from marching back over and getting into the stranger’s face, leaving maybe an inch between them.

“What did you say?” Athos snarled, eyes narrowing. It was clear that not only was he ready for a fight, but that he was ready to commit everything to it. Of course, it was equally apparent to d’Artagnan that of all the things going through Athos’ brain in that moment, common sense was not one of them.

Unfortunately, it appeared that common sense wasn’t with d’Artagnan either because he was pushing his sleeves up and prepared to jump in the fray to protect his boyfriend. (If he were being completely honest, the sight of Athos ready to fight for him was really attractive, but d’Artagnan could think about that later.)

The stranger considered his chances and smirked. “I said, go and run away you fucking faggots.” With that, he spat on the ground, narrowly missing Athos’ shoes. Not missing a beat, Athos pulled his arm back and slammed his fist into the other teen’s nose. There was a loud crunch and d’Artagnan jumped forward to help in the inevitable fight. He had never really attacked anyone with intent to injure, but there was adrenaline pumping through his veins and there was no time to learn like the present.

Athos immediately found himself at the receiving end of a punch to the chest and stepped aside, elbowing someone else in the gut. He did his best to avoid getting kicked in the shin and instead took the blow in his knee. Swearing, he fell to the ground and almost had his skull cracked by someone’s errant shoe. Athos shifted, jumped to his feet again, and punched someone in the side of the jaw before taking a moment to just breathe and look at d’Artagnan.

The freshman was having a little worse luck; though he was taller than most of the others, he was still little more than skin and bones. All muscle he had was better put towards running than fighting. Still, he gave as good as he got. As Athos watched, d’Artagnan caught a punch with one arm and scratched the offender with his free hand. His technique was rough and he was going to have quite the black eye at the end of it all, but he was holding his own and Athos felt a surge of pride.

It didn’t make much sense (he had never thrown a punch in d’Artagnan’s presence, let alone teach him anything) but Athos wrote it off as his sheer admiration for the other teen. And, well, if it was another way for him to contrast d’Artagnan with Anne then so be it. _There are worse things to value in a person,_ Athos decided as he kneed someone in the groin.

Still, they were outnumbered five versus two and some part of Athos’ mind remembered that d’Artagnan’s dad was supposed to be picking him up anytime now. While the idea of meeting Mr. d’Artagnan was terrifying enough, the idea of meeting him while fighting a group of strangers was even more unpleasant.

 _Besides,_ Athos told himself, _it’s not like we’re losing so we aren’t really running away. We’re sparing them further embarrassment._ With that in mind, he grabbed d’Artagnan by the elbow and pulled him away. Athos only checked to make sure that his boyfriend was following before taking off down the street. They made it a few buildings away from the arcade and crossed the street, finding shelter in a mostly empty McDonald’s.

Once they got there, Athos found his heart pounding and his chest heaving for air. D’Artagnan wasn’t much better, but he had a grin on his face that made it all worth it. Well, for Athos at least. Hopefully the freshman wouldn’t mind the inevitable black eye or split lip too much. Athos thought it added a sense of rugged handsomeness to d’Artagnan’s otherwise young features. However, Athos had no doubt that any facial injuries he had, though, just added to the impression that he was actually homeless.

“That was incredible,” d’Artagnan decided, leaning against the back of a booth. Athos gave him a small smile and nodded. Now that the danger was past and his adrenaline was going down, he was returning to a state of content. He had to admit, it was a much nicer feeling. “You were incredible,” d’Artagnan continued, looking at his boyfriend. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

Athos shrugged, not willing to answer when that meant bringing up his younger brother and risking d’Artagnan asking about him. Family was one thing that Athos was not ready to talk about with just about anyone, not even d’Artagnan. Anne first, then family. If, of course, Athos ever had to bring up either.

“You should tell your father that we’re here now. I’m going to buy something so they don’t kick us out,” Athos decided. D’Artagnan nodded and Athos walked to the counter, ignoring the look of surprise that the employee had on her face. She was wise enough not to say anything and dutifully took his order. When that was settled, Athos turned to go back to where d’Artagnan was sitting and felt a stab of panic when he couldn’t find the other.

The feeling was soon soothed when he saw the top of d’Artagnan’s head poking out over the side of a booth. Athos let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding and walked over, sliding in next to his boyfriend. D’Artagnan seemed surprised but was definitely not opposed. Without a thought, the two laced their fingers together and Athos felt a tension in his shoulders release.

 _He’s not mad. He still likes you._ It was a nice thought.

“I... “ Athos wasn’t sure to say so he settled on the obvious. “You will have to explain how you got that.” He motioned to d’Artagnan’s face and the teen raised an eyebrow. “Just… ah, use your phone,” Athos explained. In all fairness, d’Artagnan had plenty to panic about. Still, the look on his face was close to that of someone who just about fell off a cliffside or went through some other near-death experience.

“My parents are going to kill me,” d’Artagnan moaned. He let his forehead hit the table but sit up almost immediately, wincing in pain. Athos frowned. His mother would be annoyed with him for dirtying his clothes, but his father would most likely not notice and any of the bodily injuries he suffered were small enough. D’Artagnan had not been so lucky. If his parents didn’t notice it would be a minor miracle.

Athos had absolutely no idea what to do, so he just squeezed d’Artagnan’s hand. “Just blame me,” he suggested without thinking. “I’m sure your parents couldn’t hate me anymore than they already do.” D’Artagnan looked at him with wide, innocently confused eyes and Athos was reminded why their relationship was such a bad idea. There was no possible way that this would end well and it was most certainly doomed to end. Athos didn’t deserve d’Artagnan and he was not good enough for d’Artagnan. The universe knew that.

All Athos could do was hold onto what little bits of happiness he could.

(But those were all thoughts for later.)

“Well, because we’re dating. I’m your boyfriend.” Athos waited for some flicker of understanding in d’Artagnan’s eyes, but none came. Then it became clear. “Oh, sorry. I assumed that you told them, but I understand if you haven’t. Mine don’t know, after all.”

“They know,” d’Artagnan replied without hesitation, “and they want to meet you.” He frowned. “Why would they hate you?” Athos opened his mouth, then closed it. Now was probably not the best time to mention that his parents had always had a dislike of Anne, one completely validated by the events that had passed, nor was it the best time to admit that he thought that d’Artagnan’s parents would hate him on the principle of being a guy dating their son.

So Athos just shrugged and looked away as their order was called out by one of the waiters. “Never mind.” He stood up and went to get their food.

(D’Artagnan told the truth and got grounded for a week. Porthos, at Athos’ request, showed the freshman how to throw a better punch and the best spots to aim in a fight.)

\-----------------

The conversation was going to happen eventually, they both knew it, but that didn’t mean Athos was any better prepared for the time it came around. He certainly didn’t expect it as he waited for d’Artagnan to get picked up after school, lounging around the library and pretending to do work. Still, Athos thought he handled his surprise rather well and proceeded to give d’Artagnan his well-thought out and planned reasoning behind why it was an absolutely, without a doubt, horrible idea.

So why in the world was Athos standing on d’Artagnan’s front porch? The junior had no idea. (Except he really did, and the reason was a tall idiot from upstate New York.) Athos had agreed to come over, agreed to meet d’Artagnan’s family, and even brought flowers (not roses, but some nice ones Mrs. d’Artagnan could put on the dining room table… if she didn’t want to kill Athos by the end of the night). But absolutely nothing could prepare him, not all of the random bits of information d’Artagnan gave him nor the actual advice from Aramis and Porthos.

Athos just really, really hoped that it wasn’t incredibly obvious that he was not good enough for d’Artagnan. Or, if it was, no one pointed it out. He was convinced that the younger teen was in a state of delusion for thinking that, after dating for just over a month (one month and three days, but it wasn’t like Athos was counting), it was time to meet the parents. Hell, Athos hoped that d’Artagnan never wanted to meet _his_ parents. That was something that would never happen and that was one hundred percent ok with Athos.

But no amount of introspection or worry about the future was going to make that night any easier, so Athos knocked on the door. Almost immediately it was flung open, revealing a middle-aged woman with d’Artagnan’s smile and dark blonde hair.

“You must be Athos! Come in, come in. Charles is just finishing up helping Sophia with her homework.” He didn’t have much of a choice; the flowers were pulled from his hands and he was ushered into the house like his life depended on it. Athos barely had enough time to pull of his sneakers before a little girl with dark brown hair and chocolate eyes like her brother appeared.

She looked up at him and blinked once. “Charlie! Your boyfriend is here,” she screamed, running away almost immediately. There was a shout from the other room and d’Artagnan appeared, looking sheepish as his two sisters wrapped themselves around his legs. They were seven and six respectively, if Athos remembered correctly, and they had matching pouts and expressions of distrust that were just charming enough to be cute.

“Athos.” D’Artagnan hesitated and then motioned to his legs. “I would hug you, but I find myself disposed.” Athos snorted and stepped forward, but before he could touch his boyfriend one of the girls stepped between them. “Sophia…” She had her mother’s blue eyes but the same brown skin that d’Artagnan had.

“What’s your name?” She asked, crossing her arms and jutting her hip out in a way that Athos had seen d’Artagnan do many times. He briefly wondered if she got it from him or the other way around; neither would surprise him.

He looked down at her and counted to three to keep himself calm. Kids always gave him anxiety, especially young ones. Fortunately d’Artagnan’s siblings were all old enough to talk, but in a way that made it even worse. Now Athos had to worry about talking to them and not messing up in front of them. As if parents weren’t enough to be concerned over.

“Athos,” he told her. Sophia blinked up at him and looked at him like he was being judged for murdering someone. It was not a reassuring feeling.

“Do you love my brother?” She asked. Athos felt his brain scream at him to run away, to escape this situation. This was not a conversation he was prepared to have and something about that reflected on his face. D’Artagnan let out a nervous laugh and broke free from the other sister around his leg, closing the distance between him and Athos.

They hugged and the two girls let out matching ‘ew’ noises, scampering away and leaving the room to go see if dinner was ready. Athos pulled away from d’Artagnan just enough for their embrace to be appropriate if a parent were to walk in, though they were only a few inches apart. Looking at the freshman, Athos felt almost overwhelmed with affection and sheer love that was all aimed at d’Artagnan. It wasn’t that their relationship was perfect, but Athos wouldn’t have traded it for the world.

Without even thinking, he leaned forward and kissed d’Artagnan. It wasn’t until he pulled away and saw the look on d’Artagnan’s face that Athos realized that it was their first kiss and that they were standing in the front hall of his house. The air left Athos’ lungs and he opened his mouth, mind whirling and trying to come up with some good reason for his actions.

D’Artagnan punched him in the arm, not as hard as he could have but enough so that it still hurt. “You idiot, I’ve wanted you to kiss me for weeks and you do it now?” Athos scowled and raised an eyebrow, rubbing the spot gingerly. D’Artagnan didn’t seem too concerned; besides, they both knew that Athos was made of sterner stuff. “That was my first kiss!” Now that was something Athos had never considered.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, blushing. D’Artagnan matched his scowl (though with less intensity) and nodded.

“I would certainly hope so. Now kiss me again and do it properly.” He made it sound like an order but Athos saw the way his eyebrows twitched and the quick lick of his lips. D’Artagnan was nervous about this. Maybe he thought Athos was going to regret kissing him? It could be anything.

Athos made sure that their second kiss was longer, if still chaste, and did his best to convey his feelings for the other teen. He threaded his fingers through d’Artagnan’s hair and shifted so that their height difference wasn’t quite so obnoxious. It was awkward and the angles were, despite Athos’ best efforts, all off. D’Artagnan pressed forward, obviously eager for more as if he forgot where they were. And while Athos would have loved nothing more than to stick his tongue down d’Artagnan’s throat, he had a feeling that Mr. and Mrs. d’Artagnan would not approve.

When they pulled apart, it had hardly been five seconds but it was the longest time in Athos’ life. D’Artagnan blinked, as if realizing what they had done, before grinning at his boyfriend. An invisible weight was lifted from Athos’ shoulders and he found himself hoping, not for the first time, that this would never end. Of course, they couldn’t stand there forever. That didn’t mean Athos had to break the silence, though.

“Come on, Athos. My dad’s been dying to meet you.” D’Artagnan grabbed his arm and pulled him into the dining room, not doing anything to hide his grin. If the others in his family noticed, they said nothing. The table was already set and Sophia and the other girl, Alex if Athos remembered correctly, were sitting at their places. D’Artagnan’s little brother, Ross, was engrossed in his DS and didn’t even look up. But there was one person who really drew Athos’ attention.

D’Artagnan’s father was an older, bigger, but otherwise identical version of d’Artagnan himself. The elder had wrinkles on his eyes and cheeks from smiling and his skin was weathered from long days outside. He had more gray than brown in his ponytail and big, bushy eyebrows that displayed a full gambit of emotion upon seeing Athos. There was really no way of telling what d’Artagnan senior was feeling; unlike the younger, his expressions were more minute and there seemed to be layers upon layers in each twitch.

Athos was, in short, completely out of his depth, but he could try anyway. “Hello, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you and to be invited for dinner.” He detached himself from d’Artagnan and shook the older man’s hand. It was not unlike touching sandpaper, except he was warm to the touch. Athos hoped that the smile on Mr. d’Artagnan’s face was a good sign.

“Did you see the flowers Athos brought, dear?” Mrs. d’Artagnan interrupted, walking into the room with a giant platter of lasagna. “Please, sit,” she told the two boys. Athos quickly did so, suddenly glad that he had decided to trim his beard that day. There was less of a chance of getting any sauce all over himself.

D’Artagnan’s father replied to his wife in French that Athos barely caught. Yes, the junior had been taking lessons for years but that was no replacement for an actual speaker. Also, d’Artagnan senior had an accent that Athos wasn’t used to. A quick glance at d’Artagnan, though, reassured Athos that he was under no pressure to speak in French for the whole night. The two of them had set up some rules and d’Artagnan had given Athos as much advice as possible (which was really nice, thinking about it), and it was made clear that everyone was fluent in English.

“The food smells delicious, mom,” d’Artagnan spoke up as a lull settled over them. His mother nodded even as she retreated back into the kitchen to get something else. She came back out with a huge bowl of salad. Really, Athos was quite certain that his own mother only used a container so large when they were inviting guests over. From the way no one else batted an eye, Athos guessed it was a much more common sight here.

Mrs. d’Artagnan set it down and sat across from her husband on the opposite end of the table. D’Artagnan’s three siblings were all forced to sit on one side, allowing Athos and d’Artagnan the most room. It was nice, though it did give everyone very easy access to stare at him which sent shivers crawling up Athos’ spine.

“Charles, do you want to do the ‘onors?” D’Artagnan’s father asked. His English had an accent to it; there was no mistaking that he was from France. Overall, though, it was flawless and Athos found himself wondering if the man spoke any other languages. Would it reflect poorly on Athos if he messed up on his French? Should he have taken that extra Spanish class anyway? Maybe d’Artagnan had failed to mention that he spoke French at all? That seemed like the most desirable route.

Athos was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely realized that d’Artagnan was reciting a prayer entirely by memory. _Aramis would be proud,_ Athos couldn’t help but think. The freshman had mentioned off-hand that his family was religious, if not too much, but Athos had never been one for any sort of ceremony and he just sat there waiting for it to be over.

As soon as d’Artagnan was done, though, all sense of peace was thrown away in exchange for a chaotic family meal. Almost immediately Sophia complained that Alex had kicked her under the table, while Ross turned the volume on his DS back up. D’Artagnan’s mother told everyone to behave or they wouldn’t get any dessert, which promptly quieted the two sisters.

“Ross, turn that thing off. We’re eating and we have company, you know the rules,” she added, frowning at her youngest son. Ross, who had d’Artagnan’s nose but otherwise looked more like his mother than the rest of the family, rolled his eyes but did what he was told. “So, Athos, d’Artagnan told us that you speak French?”

Athos really hoped that d’Artagnan had mentioned just that and not, perhaps, that he had only two friends or that he spent most of his free time reading because it was the easiest activity to do with minimal human interaction. Anything, really, to make Athos sound like he might deserve d’Artagnan and not like he was a completely hopeless excuse for a human being.

“A little,” Athos replied in his best French (the phrase itself was simple, but the accent was always a bit tricky). He counted it as a victory that none of the d’Artagnan’s started to laugh at him.

“He’s actually about as good as I am,” d’Artagnan-the-freshman cut in, though he spoke in English. “We’re in the same class and he’s one of the best.” His father raised an eyebrow and asked if Athos had lived in France at all. In French, of course.

The next half an hour or so were filled with questions about Athos’ family, all of which he skillfully sidestepped or answered in as vague terms possible. He supposed that, seeing as the entire conversation was in French, they were assuming that he just wasn’t as good as he had claimed. As long as they didn’t go looking him up online, Athos decided he was safe. His name, unfortunately, would pull up several news reports about a teenager attacking two others at a local private school. That was one conversation Athos had yet to have with d’Artagnan and he didn’t want to discuss it in front of anyone’s family.

Thankfully soon that line of questioning was exhausted and moved onto inquiries about who he was, what he liked to do, all general things that Athos had guessed parents would want to know about their son’s boyfriend. It was easy enough until Sophia blurted out, “Athos, when di’ you star’ l’king my broth’r?”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Mrs. d’Artagnan cut in immediately. Sophia rolled her eyes but dutifully swallowed her food and asked again. Athos tried to catch d’Artagnan’s eyes in hopes of getting some kind of ‘you don’t have to answer that’ look, but unfortunately the freshman seemed just as eager to know.

 _I’m getting back for this somehow,_ Athos decided as he coughed to give himself a bit more time. “It’s, ah, hard to say when exactly,” he began. D’Artagnan snorted and covered it up with a cough. “What, do you know?” Athos asked. “Because if you do, please tell me so I know.” It came out with all of his regular sarcasm and Athos realized, belatedly, that he had been actively controlling himself not to do that so far.

But d’Artagnan’s father let out an identical snort to his son’s and seemed more amused than anything else. “I can remember the exact moment when I looked at Julie and thought to myself, I am going to marry this woman,” he claimed. His wife laughed and rolled her eyes. Athos got the distinct feeling that if there were peas on the table, she would have flung one at him.

“Dad!” D’Artagnan was, of course, absolutely embarrassed. A blush colored his cheeks and he looked like he wanted the ground to come up and swallow him whole. Athos smiled the way only he could smile: his eyes narrowed and his lips twitched upwards, gaze becoming a little softer as he focused on the person he had fallen for. It wasn’t love, no, not yet, but it could be.

And Athos was ok with that.

He volunteered to help clean up and found himself shuttled off into the living room because, according to d’Artagnan’s mother, it was a crime against humanity to allow a guest to help. Instead, the four siblings were marched into the living room to be watched over by their mother like a hawk. Athos was left watching BBC America play re-runs of Doctor Who with d’Artagnan’s father who, while not quite as intimidating as he had feared, was still plenty threatening.

The two sat there in silence for several moments, Athos perfectly content to watch the Doctor go around Victorian England and save the world until his d’Artagnan came back. Of course, that was not to be the case.

“‘e ‘as never dated before,” d’Artagnan’s father began. “My son is an idealist. ‘e believes in good in everybody.” That much, Athos would say, was apparent within minutes of meeting the teen in question. An absolutely bizarre character trait, seeing as it crushed d’Artagnan’s survival instincts (if they even existed), but one that Athos couldn’t help but appreciate regardless. “‘Is favorite flowers are lilies, but ‘e would not say no to roses. ‘E’s allergic to, ah, bees or ants?” The man shrugged. “Not as much as Ross, but it would not be pleasant.”

Athos found himself unsure of whether he should thank him or not. He settled on remaining quiet while d’Artagnan’s father continued.

“Charles is my first son. I adore ‘is sisters and ‘is brother, but ‘e will always be the first.” The man stood and Athos realized that he was easily over six feet tall. He wasn’t as muscular as Porthos, but he didn’t need to be. “I would threaten you, but I trust my son. ‘E is young but ‘e is smart. If ‘e believes that you are good enough for ‘im, then I will agree. Do not prove me wrong.” With that, he left Athos to stew in his thoughts.

Really, it was nothing Athos didn’t know already. He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, not noticing as d’Artagnan returned, no doubt given permission to go actually spend time with his own boyfriend. Athos only realized he was there when d’Artagnan sat next to him and rubbed his back with a soothing hand, a grounding presence. It was nice and comforting and something Athos had long ago given up hope for. Maybe in another few months it would stop being such a surprise, but for now the novelty had yet to wear off. The feeling of ‘oh god someone actually likes me’ was still there and strong.

“What did he say?” D’Artagnan asked, before shaking his head. “No, it’s between you and him. You don’t need to tell me anything.” Athos shrugged and pulled his boyfriend into a hug. D’Artagnan seemed surprised by it, but he certainly didn’t protest. He continued to rub circles on Athos’ back and the older teen let himself relax. “Aramis was very wrong,” d’Artagnan decided. “You are very good at hugs.”

Athos rolled his eyes but figured that there were worse things d’Artagnan could have said. “Are your favorite flowers really lilies?” He asked, curiosity winning out above actual sense. D’Artagnan groaned and pulled away, flopping against the couch, limbs splaying everywhere.

“I can’t believe he told you that. Please tell me he didn’t talk about how I’m--”

“Allergic to bees?” Athos interrupted. D’Artagnan let out another groan. “It was… very caring of him.” There wasn’t really any set way to react to this sort of a situation, was there? Athos didn’t know and he hoped d’Artagnan realized that.

“It’s ants, Ross is allergic to bees.” D’Artagnan sat up and sighed. “I was bitten by a few fire ants when I was three and now my dad is convinced that I’ll die if I get bit again.”

Athos was silent for several moments, long enough for d’Artagnan to start to grow worried. “I’m allergic to soy. If I eat it I puff up like a balloon,” Athos admitted. He did not expect d’Artagnan to adopt a look of horror.

“You should have told me! What if my mom made something with soy in it? What if you had to go to the hospital because of me? What--” Athos cut him off with a glance. It was a testament to their relationship that d’Artagnan didn’t so much as flinch, just paused. “I think it’s a valid concern,” he mumbled.

“I always have an epipen somewhere.” Athos pulled out the needle from his pockets, glad that he had brought it along this time. He usually just kept one in his backpack, with Aramis and Porthos knowing the exact place and use. It was relatively easy to avoid eating soy, but after the first ER visit Athos was careful to have someone who knew what to do in case of an emergency.

“You’ll teach me how to use it?” D’Artagnan asked, actually concerned for Athos’ well-being.

“It’s really self-explanatory,” Athos replied. “But sure, if you want.” He could see the look in d’Artagnan’s eyes; it was the ‘I am not going to drop this until I get my way’ look that was both incredibly attractive and infuriating. “Later, though.” Athos glanced at the doorway, fairly confident that they had a few more minutes of peace.

With that in mind, he pulled d’Artagnan close and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “This… is nice.” It came out as barely a whisper and d’Artagnan wasn’t sure that he had heard correctly. He shifted so he could face his boyfriend properly.

“Did Athos just admit that he likes something?” D’Artagnan teased. Athos rolled his eyes and poked him in the stomach. The yelp and offended look that got shot his way was completely worth it, even though his boyfriend shifted away to get to a safer distance.

“I tell you how I feel,” Athos argued. D’Artagnan hummed in agreement and moved back to cuddle.

“Hands where I can see ‘em, boys,” d’Artagnan’s mother came in and the two sprung apart, Athos feeling a jolt of terror and adrenaline. But then she started to laugh and d’Artagnan slid back to lean against his boyfriend and Athos felt his lips twitch in a shadow of a smile.

Yeah, this was nice.

\------------------

They were two months in so of course they were largely overdo for a fight. Not that Athos and d’Artagnan hadn’t argued before, but it was mostly small stuff. Who should pay for the date (they switched off after every date). Whether it was ok for Athos to hold the door open (it was, but only if d’Artagnan could do it too). If d’Artagnan could rest his head on Athos’ (no, but only in front of other people. In private Athos couldn’t care less).

But there it was, the biggest problem.

“You need to talk to him,” Aramis had muttered one day as the four walked to Subway (it had become a weekly thing). Athos didn’t understand at first. He had been under the impression that everything was ok, that he wasn’t royally fucking up.

“Can you tell me why?” Athos had asked. Aramis had shaken his head.

“Just talk to him, Athos. Before you lose him.” That had terrified Athos and he promised Aramis to figure it out as quickly as possible.

So there they were, Athos opening his locker while d’Artagnan leaned against the one next to his. Athos wasn’t sure how to bring it up. How did someone just casually mention that his best friend had mentioned that he needed to talk to his boyfriend before he got dumped? Athos wished he had asked Aramis for advice, but the teen had clamped up after warning him the first time. There was definitely something that he wasn’t telling Athos, but that didn’t make Athos feel any better.

If it was serious, d’Artagnan would have brought it up, right? Athos liked to think that they were good at communicating. That d’Artagnan trusted him enough to not to just keep things bottled up, waiting to explode.

Not for the first time, Athos found himself wondering if d’Artagnan was cheating on him and that, somehow, Aramis had found out. But no, if that was the case then Aramis would have handled it himself and tried to keep it from Athos. Right? Aramis had to know that Athos would not be able to handle another repeat of what Anne had done to him. At least this time it was impossible that Thomas was involved; d’Artagnan had yet to meet Athos’ family. Hell, d’Artagnan only knew the bare details about Anne.

And Athos was one hundred percent content for that to remain the case.

“Is everything ok?” Athos asked, looking through his locker for the right notebook. He really needed to clean it out at some point, but he also couldn’t find the motivation to do it. Besides, it wasn’t nearly as bad as Porthos’ locker. A low bar perhaps, but one nonetheless (they couldn’t all be Aramis with his sparkling, perfectly organized locker).

D’Artagnan shrugged. “Yeah, why?” It came out casual and maybe a few days ago Athos would have accepted it and moved on. But now he could see the tension in d’Artagnan’s shoulders, the way his eyes weren’t as bright as they used to be. Athos could have kicked himself for not noticing.

Because, now that he was paying attention, it was very apparent that not everything was ok. “Are you sure? If you want to talk about something…” Athos winced, realizing that his words were coming out condescending and not at all caring. _I’m no good at this. Why couldn’t Aramis just tell me?_ He wondered.

“I’m fine,” d’Artagnan snapped. Athos scowled and slammed his locker shut, shouldering his backpack and going down the hall. He found himself not caring whether d’Artagnan followed or not; if the teen was going to be five about the whole thing, then Athos wasn’t going to deal with him. After all, this was supposed to be a relationship and didn’t that mean they had communication?

“Where are you going?” D’Artagnan called out, following. He didn’t sound concerned. If anything, it seemed like he was more annoyed at the inconvenience Athos was presenting him. _That’s probably all you are, an inconvenience. Someone that bothers him._

“Same place as usual, d’Artagnan,” Athos replied, not looking back. “And if you want to talk when we get there, then we can talk.” He only got another few feet down the hall before he was pulled back, d’Artagnan grabbing his shoulder and yanking him around. The freshman was frowning as he reached forward to touch Athos’ face or arm or something.

Athos pushed his hand aside. “Don’t touch me,” he snarled. D’Artagnan let out a bitter laugh.

“Oh, is that how it is?” He stepped back and crossed his arms, a dark look passing over his face. “We’re dating, Athos. Right? That means we’re going to hug and we’re going to hold hands and sometimes, yes, we’re going to kiss. And get this, it’s going to be in public!” He practically shouted. Athos was incredibly glad that the school was largely empty, then he realized what d’Artagnan was saying.

“Well I’m sorry,” he replied, “that we can’t all be out and proud and open like that.” Athos narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you get it, d’Artagnan? Not all of us are ready for the entire world to know and,” he continued, not letting the freshman stop him, “even if I was, this is just who I am. I’m not Aramis and I’m not Porthos and you have to understand that.” Athos swallowed and convinced himself that the tightening in his throat wasn’t because he was scared. “I’m not going to change, ok?”

“Well neither am I.” D’Artagnan crossed his arms and Athos realized that yes, they were going to have this conversation here and now. “We’ve been dating for over two months and you still barely touch me unless we’re in private. Are you ashamed of me, is that it? Or are you just ashamed of yourself?” Athos opened his mouth to reply, but d’Artagnan wasn’t done. “You aren’t my first crush, ok? And you might be my first boyfriend, Athos, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you date me whenever it’s convenient for you and just ignore our relationship every other time.”

Athos stepped forward and didn’t miss the way d’Artagnan moved back. “This isn’t exactly a picnic for me, ok? And I’m not going to apologize for not being the perfect prince or some other _shit_ like that,” the junior practically hissed. “I’m not a good person and I’m not a good boyfriend and I thought you realized that--”

“And I thought that you were going to try.” D’Artagnan’s words stung more than any physical blow could have. But as much as Athos wanted to swear, up and down, that he was trying, he couldn’t. Not that he hadn’t lied before, but because he couldn’t bring himself to lie to d’Artagnan. Not about this at least, not now, not when so much was on the line.

“I… I’ll try harder, I’ll get better, I’ll--” D’Artagnan shook his head and that was all Athos needed to shut up.

“It isn’t that, Athos. It’s…” The freshman ran a hand through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know how much longer I can wait.” _No. No no no no no nononononononononono--_ “I’ll see you in class, ok?” With that, d’Artagnan turned around and walked away.

Athos opened his mouth, started to follow, and then stopped. Not because he no longer had feelings for d’Artagnan, but because he didn’t know what else to do.

\-----------

“You should have fucking followed him,” Porthos swore, slamming his hand against the table. He had, for once, arrived before Aramis. Now he was stuck listening to Athos explain the entire situation (or at least, what little of it Athos knew), and attempting to help. It was beyond annoying that, apparently, he knew what the problem was before Athos even had the chance to explain.

Hell, Porthos hadn’t even been told like Aramis had. Nope, the teenager had just figured it out, because everyone and their grandmother could tell that d’Artagnan was unhappy… except for Athos.

And now Athos had royally fucked up and he was one hundred percent sure that d’Artagnan would never want him back.

“I know that,” Athos replied, words slurred between the fingers on his hands, palms pressed up against his eyes as if he could just push the sight of d’Artagnan walking away out of his memory. “I just. What was I supposed to say? What could I have done?” His shoulders slumped and he let his head hit the table. “I’m such a fuck up, Porthos. No wonder he left me.”

Porthos sighed and shook his head, a purely habitual motion since Athos couldn’t actually see. “He hasn’t actually broken up with you, ‘Thos. You can still make this right, fix things.”

“But how?” Athos blinked past what he realized were tears. _God, I’m actually a protagonist in some teenaged novel. Someone please shoot me and put me out of my misery,_ he found himself thinking. He was too caught up in his thoughts to realize Aramis was there until the other teen put a hand on his shoulder.

“So you talked to d’Artagnan, I see?” Aramis asked with forced cheer. Athos shifted so he could free one hand, flipping his friend off and not caring who else might see. “I’m sorry, Athos.” This time, Aramis sounded sincere. Not like it did any good, but Athos supposed it was the thought that counted. “Did he… ah, did he at least tell you why?”

“They haven’t broken up yet,” Porthos cut in. His voice was sharp and demanding and for a moment Athos wondered if his two friends were going to start fighting next. That would be just his luck: get into a horrible argument with the boyfriend and then push his two only friends into something similar.

Aramis hummed and sat down next to Athos at the table. “Listen, it’ll be ok. I know it might be rough, but you’ll be fine and d’Artagnan will come around eventually.” Porthos cleared his throat and Athos realized that, of course, he had texted Aramis the details. No doubt the two had some stupid ass plan in place with the hopes of making everything ok. If they could do that, they were actual miracle workers.

“You need to talk to him, though, is what we’re trying to say,” Porthos added after a moment. “This isn’t something you can just ignore.” Athos rolled his eyes and groaned, moving so he could glare at his friend with both eyes. He didn’t justify the comment with any verbal response. That being said, he did not miss the heavy look that Porthos shared with Aramis.

“I’m sorry, Athos,” Aramis murmured, his hand going to rub circles on Athos’ back. The last person who had done that was d’Artagnan and it made Athos want to start crying. Instead he just forced himself to swallow back his emotions, stand up, and tell the others that he was going to go to the bathroom. “Athos…” A single glance and Aramis shut up. _He’s only trying to help,_ Athos told himself. _Yeah, but he’s the reason this is a problem in the first place. You could be blissfully unaware that someone like d’Artagnan exists if not for his stupid meddling._

“I will see you two later.” Athos managed to keep himself polite, if distant, as he grabbed his backpack and walked away. He didn’t run and he didn’t look back. He most certainly didn’t glance into the French classroom, see d’Artagnan sitting there on his phone, and dash away before the freshman had a chance to sense his presence.

 _I can skip French,_ Athos decided. _Yeah, I’m going to do that._

He did indeed skip that class, as well as any other situation in which he might run into d’Artagnan, for an entire week. After that, his parents were actually called and the gig was up. Athos made up some lie about how he just hated the teacher or some bullshit, but he still had to go to class. And he had detention for a week, which was just bloody fantastic (Athos had definitely asked for it, but still).

“Athos.” Aramis had grabbed his arm one day before he could sulk off. “You need to talk to him. Either break up or don’t, but you can’t keep dragging this out. It’s not fair to him and it isn’t fair to you.” As much as Athos was loath to agree, Aramis was right.

The past week had been hell. Athos kept feeling his fingers twitch, wanting to reach for his phone and text d’Artagnan about something funny or something cute. But he couldn’t and there was too stark of a difference between d’Artagnan and any of Athos other (two) friends. Sure, they tried but they weren’t who Athos wanted to talk to and eventually he just gave up and wallowed deeper in self-pity and self-loathing.

And Athos kept missing d’Artagnan, more than anything. Even more than he had missed Anne, though at least the memories he had between him and d’Artagnan were only marred by the lense of ‘oh god I can’t believe I lost this’ and not the ‘oh god she ended up being a cheating bitch.’ It wasn’t much of an improvement, but it was one. Regardless, Athos missed d’Artagnan. He missed being able to look over and see his smile, his eyes, his _presence._

No more d’Artagnan making everything better with a soft laugh, no more experiencing their little shared looks, no more feeling like he was actually part of something and not just a total loser waiting to get out of high school and move on with his life. There was a gaping hole in Athos’ life and he didn’t like it.

So he was going to talk to d’Artagnan and they were going to figure this out and they were going to stay a couple. Athos didn’t want to consider the other possibility (though he had many times during long nights). Hell, it was like he couldn’t. He just couldn’t accept that they might break up, even though the logical part of his brain knew that d’Artagnan had every right to do that. But he had to give Athos a chance, right? Didn’t he deserve that much at least?

“What do you want?” D’Artagnan snapped, narrowing his eyes at Athos as the junior walked over. Athos would be lying if he thought that d’Artagnan looked anything other than exhausted. His hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, clearly unwashed for several days, and his eyes were bloodshot. Even his clothes were a little less clean; there were mysterious stains on his jeans that were usually reserved for Fridays or anytime they were doing something outside.

Somehow, though, seeing him still took Athos’ breath away. He blamed it on a lack of exposure to d’Artagnan over the past week. His mind had just lost some of its resistance, that’s all.

“Are you actually going to be at class today, or did you stop by just to yell some more?” D’Artagnan’s words snapped Athos out of whatever thoughts he had, including those regarding his plans for their conversation. His entire mind was blank and he struggled to remember what he was supposed to say, what he had decided to agree upon, what Aramis and Porthos had suggested--

“I’m sorry.” D’Artagnan raised an eyebrow and Athos took it as permission to continue. “I’m an asshole. I don’t smile or laugh a lot. I’ve got trust issues and self-esteem issues and none of that,” Athos added, “is your fault. It’s mine.” He took a shaky breath. “As is all of this… insanity. I really, really, really like you, d’Artagnan. You’ve made me happier than I thought possible. And I know I’ve fucked up. But I… I just… I want a second chance.” It came out even more pathetic and disjointed than it had sounded in his head, but Athos couldn’t find the right words and he didn’t have the luxury of time.

At the very least, d’Artagnan didn’t laugh or snort or roll his eyes. He did, however, give Athos a cautious look. “How can I trust you? How do I know this is any different?” He closed his locker and faced Athos directly and the new angle allowed Athos to see the full spread of emotions in d’Artagnan’s eyes. There wasn’t anger or betrayal or even sorrow. Those were all what Athos had expected.

Instead there’s fear. Athos wasn’t sure what to make of it. What did d’Artagnan possibly have to worry about? He held all the cards; Athos was dancing to whatever tune he was given. If d’Artagnan wanted him to jump off the school roof, Athos would ask when. It was that simple. Short of cutting contact with Aramis or Porthos, there was nothing d’Artagnan could ask that Athos would not consider doing.

“We’ve been together two months already and nothing has changed. You need to show me that this is different.” D’Artagnan’s words barely came out above a whisper, but the hall was just empty enough for Athos to hear every word.

He swallowed. _Now or never. Now or never._ “I want you to meet my parents. Not as a friend but as… as my boyfriend.” D’Artagnan froze. Athos didn’t notice at first; he just continued, trying to explain how so much of his fear stemmed from what they would think and how torn he was between needing approval and not wanting anything to do with them.

“Athos.” Hearing his name, however, snapped him out of it rather quickly. D’Artagnan cleared his throat and shifted, masking the way his eyes shimmered with emotion and just a hint of tears. “I… God, I can’t believe I’m saying this… I want to meet your parents, I really do, but…” He bit his lip and wow Athos had missed the way d’Artagnan did that, even if now was an entirely inappropriate moment to notice. “I don’t want you to come out just because of me. This is a big deal and--”

D’Artagnan was cut off because he suddenly couldn’t speak. Not for lack of trying, per se, but because Athos’ lips were against his and Athos had his arms wrapped around d’Artagnan’s waist, pulling him close. This was stupid and reckless and even Aramis and Porthos didn’t do this at school, but Athos couldn’t find it in himself to care. There weren’t enough people in the halls to care and he missed this. He missed being close to d’Artagnan. And, by the way the freshman melted into the embrace, the feeling was mutual.

When they broke apart it was after only a few seconds, but Athos felt winded and he knew his face was flushed. D’Artagnan hardly looked any better, though his expression was better described as dazed. He was absolutely stunning, even with his messy hair and sleep-deprived face. Athos wouldn’t trade him for the world and nothing felt more right than ensuring that d’Artagnan never wanted to leave again.

If Athos had to go through another experience like the last week, he might snap.

“You,” he asserted, “are the most important person I have ever met.” Athos wasn’t sure if he was more scared to explain about Anne and Thomas than he was fearful about having d’Artagnan meet his parents, but it was a close thing. Still, Athos managed to get the words out, even if he was just rambling at the end, hands flying everywhere as he lost his composure and tried to make it sound like he was a little less unstable, a little less of a horrible person that didn’t deserve d’Artagnan.

At the end, though, Athos got a full body hug and he accepted it with open arms. He didn’t cry (though d’Artagnan did) even if the bubbling emotions underneath his skin made it a tempting option. And when Athos looked up at d’Artagnan, their eyes meeting, there was no anger or hatred there. Maybe a bit of sadness, but no pity. Nothing that made Athos feel like he was less of a person. Nothing that made Athos think that d’Artagnan was going to break up with him.

“I would love to meet my boyfriend’s parents.” For once, Athos was right. He had done the right thing. Everything was ok.

(For the time being.)

\------------------

“So you are in his French class? That’s so interesting,” Athos’ mother said with such sincerity that it made his ears bleed. “Where did you learn? Are your parents from France?” She was a nice enough woman, Athos figured, except for when something was out of line with what she considered a proper family. Since she was a stay at home mother she spent all of her time, well, worrying about the house. She liked things a certain way and those ways were not supposed to change. Athos was a bit nervous about how she would react, but assumed she was just going to cry a lot.

“My dad is French. My mom met him when she was studying there and they fell in love.” D’Artagnan, upon Athos’ suggestion, had pulled out all the stops. His hair was actually clean enough to the point of distraction with the way it reflected light, not to mention the fact that he had trimmed his nails and gotten all the dirt out of them (apparently d’Artagnan’s mother had been delighted upon this realization). In more obvious ways, though, he had cleaned up nicely. His jeans were without a single hole and his shirt fit perfectly, unlike the vast majority of clothes that hung off his frame like they belonged to an older brother.

Despite being even more beautiful than usual, it was easy not to want to kiss him senseless; all hints of such desires promptly vanished from Athos’ mind whenever he reminded himself of why d’Artagnan was so dressed up. Terror and anxiety, Athos quickly found out, were great mood killers.

“I always wish we spent time in France,” Athos’ mother admitted with a glance towards his father (Athos had thanked god Thomas was at some boarding school and wouldn’t be there to see the events first-hand). “But Thomas and Olivier have to worry about their education and I would feel horrid just leaving them behind.” _Probably because she thinks I’d kill Thomas in his sleep,_ Athos couldn’t help but think.

He had long since given up trying to convince his parents to use his middle name instead of his first; there were more important things to worry about. Besides, it wasn’t like his friends ever came over and interacted with his parents. (Except, of course, for special occasions like these.) At least d’Artagnan wasn’t being an ass about it. Then again, it was entirely possible that he was too busy trying to remember how to do things like eat and breathe. He was sitting with his back so straight that Athos would have sworn that there was a wood plank tied to his spine, if not for the way d’Artagnan had bent over to hug Athos.

“So, Olivier, what grants us the honor of meeting your friend?” Athos father was not a particularly tall or large man but he was just enough of both to be imposing. (It was also incredibly clear where Athos had gotten his scowl from, but d’Artagnan wasn’t about to point that out.) There was a half-eaten steak on the man’s plate and Athos wondered if he should be worried by the way the steak knife was so close to his father’s hand.

 _You haven’t even told him yet,_ Athos’ mind reminded him.

“I actually… There’s something I wanted to tell you,” Athos managed to say without swallowing his own tongue or sinking into his seat like some child. He had talked at length with various friends who had come out to their parents, even going as far as to ask Treville for any advice (the man had given Athos his personal number and made Athos promise to call if he needed anything). The general consensus was that it would be best if Athos told his parents relatively soon into the night, if just to get it out of the way and not have it weigh on his mind for any longer than absolutely necessary.

Aramis and Porthos had also made it very clear that Athos was to contact them if the worse was to occur. They knew about Anne and they knew that his family was not known for taking news like this well.

“Is this about school?” Athos’ mother asked, frowning. “You know if you have any difficulty--”

“It’s not about school,” he interrupted, torn between putting his news off until later or just blurting it all out and getting it over with. “I…” Athos glanced at d’Artagnan. Underneath the table, the freshman reached out and squeezed his hand. It was reassuring and Athos held on, not letting go. D’Artagnan didn’t seem bothered at all by that, though his palm was slick with sweat. Or that was Athos’. It was hard to tell.

“Well? What is it then?” His father barked out, cutting into his steak and chewing on it, eyes not leaving his son. “Don’t tell me you got some girl pregnant.” Athos was glad that, at the very least, he was not dealing with that. “Oh god, you got someone pregnant didn’t you?”

“No!” Athos choked out, exchanging looks with d’Artagnan. The freshman offered him a weak smile; in any other situation the question would have been funny. As it was the idea was vaguely horrifying. Also, Athos wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that his parents hadn’t guessed yet. “D’Artagnan and I... He’s my boyfriend. We’re dating. I’m bi.”

There was a moment of silence. Athos felt the tension grow as each second slipped by, d’Artagnan’s grip on his hand turning into a vice. Athos’ mother had stopped eating and was now looking at the two boys like it was obvious. His father, though, just cut another bite of his steak and shook his head.

“No you aren’t,” he replied, tone of voice not unlike that of someone asked the weather. Of all the answers Athos had expected, that was not one of them. Anger? Yes. Sorrow? Of course. But not disbelief. Not acting like Athos was lying for some god-awful reason. _Do they really value my words so little?_

He waited a moment to see if his father would say anything else. When the man didn’t, Athos spoke. “I am. D’Artagnan is the best person I have ever met, including Anne, and I care for him more than I ever did for her. My feelings for him are just as valid--”

“Shut up,” Athos’ father growled, pointing his fork at his son, “and eat your food.” D’Artagnan’s jaw physically dropped and even Athos’ mother seemed uncomfortable with the situation, though the hand covering her mouth was probably doubling as a way to hide the trembling of her lips.

There were tears in her eyes, just like Athos had thought, but at least she wasn’t outright denying him. Athos, who hadn’t even considered denial as a possible option, was silent for another second. But he had not come this far, promised d’Artagnan so much, just to sit and pretend that nothing had changed.

He stood up, slammed his hands against the table, and glared at his father. “I don’t care how unhappy this makes you or how much this ruins your idea of a perfect family. Whether you like it or not, this is who I am. We both know that Thomas is the ideal son--”

“Don’t you dare bring your brother into this!” Athos’ father bellowed, standing as well and making an imposing figure out of himself.

“Why not? He’s straight and polite and the ideal son for you. I’m not and no matter what you try that isn’t going to change.” Athos curled his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms. “I’m bisexual, father! Bi-sex-u-al! I like girls and guys and right now I’m in love with d’Artagnan and that isn’t going to change no matter what you do.”

“No son of mine is in love with another boy.”

Athos barely kept a sneer off of his face, running off of sheer spite and anger. He didn’t allow himself to feel anything, not even glancing at d’Artagnan out of fear that he’d break down. This was not the time to display weakness and hopefully he could be forgiven for that.

Still, he meant every single word that he said. “Then I guess I’m not your son.”

There was no question that his father felt the same, especially when he looked into Athos’ eyes and replied, “I see no son of mine.”

His mother let out a sharp breath and began to cry in earnest. D’Artagnan leapt to his feet to defend Athos but a single hand on his shoulder stopped his words in his throat. The freshman made it clear with a hard gaze that he would fight for Athos until the end, but Athos knew his parents better than anyone. This was not a battle that could be won and, though he had hoped to avoid it, he had prepared for this outcome.

“Come on, d’Artagnan. I’ll need help grabbing my things.” Athos left the table and didn’t bother looking back as he marched up the stairs. He could hear his mother muffling her tears in her napkin and felt d’Artagnan’s furious footsteps following him. His father was silent but that was to be expected.

In a twisted way, Athos was glad this had happened. He knew that later he would be distraught but for now he knew what to do. He walked into his room and went to throw what little was not already packed into his backpack. D’Artagnan watched, standing in the doorway, arms crossed. The freshman just took everything in, making no move to actually help. After about a minute, Athos looked at his boyfriend.

“What? Do you have something to say?” He snapped, internally wincing at the harshness of his words. Then again, if Athos wasn’t allowed to be mad now of all times, then when could he?

D’Artagnan, at least, didn’t seem offended. His eyes softened and he stepped forward, trying to pull Athos into a hug. The junior resisted, pushing his boyfriend away. “Athos…”

“We can talk later. I need help bringing my things to the car.” D’Artagnan didn’t look like he wanted to help. No, he wanted to talk. Athos could guess why, but he didn’t know how to explain to d’Artagnan that this was ok. That he had money saved, that Aramis and Porthos had both opened their homes to him, that his family was toxic and this would probably help him. There was no way d’Artagnan could understand.

D’Artagnan with his perfect, loving family that got along no matter what. D’Artagnan who saw the best in everyone and everything, who probably thought that he could just argue with Athos’ father until this wasn’t an issue anymore. D’Artagnan who didn’t understand that the world wasn’t a happy place and that things didn’t always turn out the way they should.

It was d’Artagnan that had given Athos the strength for this and, for better or worse, he probably deserved some kind of explanation. Athos had never been good with words and he still wasn’t, but he knew that he should at least try.

“This is my decision, d’Artagnan,” he began. “I… I’m ok with this. I already have plans.” Athos managed a weak twitch of his lips as he motioned to the bags that lay on his bed. “If you couldn’t already tell.” He pulled on his backpack and picked up another, twirling his car keys in his hand. “I knew there was the very real chance that my father would…. react the way he did. And I can’t argue with him.”

“Athos--”

“Ok, that’s not right.” Athos sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I can if I want. But what would that accomplish? More tension? Another reason for my parents to hate me, to value Thomas and pretend I don’t exist? D’Artagnan, I’m not… I’m not happy here,” he admitted. It was strange to say aloud, to accept that his life was shitty and not just because of Anne or whatever mess he had gotten into.

Athos held up three fingers. “This is how many things make me happy. Aramis, Porthos, and you.” He put one finger down for each name. “That’s it. Do you get that? Before you, I had two people to make life worth living. Even then, sometimes I just wouldn’t get out of bed until my mother came in and _yelled_ until I did. There is nothing here, d’Artagnan. Nothing for me, for my future, for my happiness.” Athos took a shaky breath and reminded himself that he wasn’t going to cry here.

Maybe later when he was safe. When he wasn’t so fucking emotional.

Then d’Artagnan hugged him, Athos putting up no resistance this time, and everything inside of his chest seemed to break. It helped that d’Artagnan held onto him, making sure that Athos didn’t fall to the floor in a sobbing puddle, providing some stability even though everything else was being destroyed all around him.

“It’s going to be ok. I love you. It’s going to be ok.” Athos hoped to god d’Artagnan was right.

\----------------------------

Athos rolled his eyes as d’Artagnan’s mother took what had to be the hundredth or so photo of her son and his now-a-highschool-graduate boyfriend. The robes were a nice light blue color at least, but they were still hot and heavy and Athos was pretty sure that he had sweated half his body weight during the ceremony. His cap was missing and Aramis and Porthos had gone ‘looking for it’ (read: make out in the nearest secluded spot) and he was still walking around in a daze.

When she showed the two teenagers the photo, Athos had half a smile on his face and d’Artagnan looked even more ecstatic than his boyfriend. If it weren’t for the robes, it would have been a bit of a challenge to tell who had graduated that day. (It wasn’t helped that d’Artagnan was actually starting to grow facial hair.)

Without hesitation, Athos asked if she would send that to him later. “I’ll send all of them to you later,” she promised. “You deserve something to remember this by. You’ve fought hard to get here, after all.”

That was an understatement. After being kicked out, Athos had spent half a year jumping between Aramis’ and Porthos’ houses before moving in with the d’Artagnans permanently (the rule was that he couldn’t be in his boyfriend’s room unless the door was open and vice versa, but that was completely ok). He got a job, didn’t touch his savings unless he was buying something for his boyfriend, and applied to all the local colleges.

Not just because he wanted to stay by d’Artagnan. They were also the cheapest and the most likely to give him a good scholarship which, since he no longer had access to the considerable family funds, was a concern. And, ok, he could see d’Artagnan every week. Maybe that was a concern. Maybe. He hadn’t told anyone. (He had told Aramis and Porthos multiple times.)

Athos was going to a large public school four hours away, most of his tuition covered by a considerable amount of financial aid. D’Artagnan was working on improving his grades in order to follow, but even if he didn’t Athos wouldn’t care. He was practically giddy that d’Artagnan was ok staying with him even after all the crap they had gone through. While his self-esteem was better, there were still improvements to be made. Having d’Artagnan around helped.

“I’m so proud of you,” the aforementioned boyfriend murmured, kissing Athos on the cheek. One arm was wrapped around Athos’ waist, the other innocently resting by d’Artagnan’s side. The sophomore (well, now he was a junior but that was too weird to think about) had shot up in the past year and now could comfortably rest his chin on the top of Athos’ head. It was irritating and obnoxious and Athos hated it (in public at least). “I love you,” d’Artagnan added, as if he hadn’t already said it that day.

Athos would never get tired of hearing him say it. “I love you too.” They exchanged a look and Athos took the opportunity to kiss d’Artagnan properly. (D’Artagnan’s mother took a picture and it became the two’s facebook profile picture for half a year.)

After a few more rounds of pictures, going around and thanking various teachers and saying congratulations to other friends (Treville was asserting that he wasn’t crying, he just had allergies; Constance had hugged them with such strength that Athos feared for his spine; and Richelieu looked like he was actually sad to see him go), it was time to leave.

“Pizza?” Porthos asked, as if he hadn’t demanded the very thing.

“Pizza,” Aramis agreed, squeezing his arm.

D’Artagnan opened his mouth to reply with some witty comment or tease, but he forgot his words. He looked over Athos’ shoulder, eyes round as saucers, and swallowed. “A… Athos…” Immediately the college student (now _that_ was weird to think about) turned, expecting some jock that needed his face punched in.

Athos did not expect to see his mother there, wearing clothes he had never seen on her before, a small gift bag in her hands. He wanted to yell at her and opened his mouth to do just that but d’Artagnan rested a hand on his shoulder and Athos paused. Her expression was not malicious and it wasn’t like she hadn’t tried. After everything that happened, though, Athos had wanted nothing to do with his family and had refused to meet her. Eventually she just stopped.

“I just want to talk for five minutes.” She gave him a weak smile. “You can time me, if you’d like.” Athos shook his head and motioned for his friends to leave. D’Artagnan wavered and his loyalty was appreciated, but this was one conversation Athos didn’t want company for. He squeezed his boyfriend’s hand before letting go and pushing him towards Aramis and Porthos. The three gave Athos almost identical looks of concern but moved off, out of hearing range.

“Talk.” Athos knew he was being harsh but today… Well, today was supposed to be a happy one and he didn’t want her to ruin it. He wasn’t sure what she could possibly want to say, but if she wanted to apologize then that wouldn’t be enough. Certainly he felt more ill will towards his father, but his mother was not blameless either.

She seemed to understand that, though, and hesitated before handing him the bag. “Consider it a graduation gift. I… I wasn’t sure what you might want, but I hope this helps.” He licked his lips and took out car keys and a hundred dollar bill. “The car is used but I thought you might want one. No strings,” she added. “I… When I went off to college, I wanted a car so badly. If you already have one you can give it away.” Her lips twitched. “I won’t know.”

Athos swallowed. Of all the things he had expected, this was not it. His mother wasn’t done, though.

“I understand that I failed you and that I will never be able to attone for that. This isn’t my way of asking you to forgive me or to forget everything that happened. But I just want you to know that I am sorry. I miss you so much and so does your father and brother, even if they won’t admit it.”

“No they don’t,” Athos cut in without thinking. His mother gave him a look that was familiar and nostalgic all at the same time. He hadn’t seen it in years but she had been pulling that expression out since he was a little boy. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok. Athos…” She stepped forward and then stopped, arms frozen as they started to come up. He shook his head. Maybe eventually he would be ready for that, but not yet. Only family could touch him and his mother had forfeited that right. “I’m so proud of you, Athos. My little boy, all grown up.” She smiled and blinked a few times. Athos realized she was crying.

He wasn’t sure why, but she was definitely crying.

“Can… Can a crying old mother ask her oldest son a question?” She sniffed, rubbing at her eyes. Athos felt his chest squeeze and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. “Was he… Is he worth it? Does he make you happy?”

Athos thought about all of the little moments between him and d’Artagnan, the way that the other always knew how to make him smile. He thought about how miserable he had been for so long, how he never expected to feel anything for anyone ever again after Anne. He thought about how d’Artagnan had forced himself past all of Athos’ walls, not so much jumping over them as he knocked them down. He recalled their awkward dates and kisses that soon turned into perfect little moments and small touches that were entirely appropriate and also the most precious things in Athos’ memory. He could remember every single gift they had exchanged, from six month anniversary to d’Artagnan’s sixteenth birthday to their first Christmas together.

He knew the exact moment, standing in their kitchen trying to make toast or cereal or some other breakfast food before school, half awake with not enough coffee in his veins, that he realized that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with d’Artagnan.

That, when the time was right, he would get down on one knee and ask the stupid brunette with a beautiful smile and bright eyes to marry him.

“Nevermind,” Athos’ mother decided. “I can see how much he means to you.” She smiled past her reddened eyes and her tear-stained cheeks. “I’m so happy for you, Athos. I really am.”

 _I’m happy too,_ Athos thought, eyes going over to look at d’Artagnan. _I’m happy._


End file.
